


UnRiddled

by DragonaireAbsolvare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Fluff, Gen, first & second year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonaireAbsolvare/pseuds/DragonaireAbsolvare
Summary: Harry Potter fanfiction, Tom Riddle AU.A few decades ago, Armando Dippet obediently let Tom Riddle take over the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts. Consequently, Riddle was not able to directly participate in the war, turning into a behind-the-scenes Dark Lord, living his life as a heartthrob teacher who never seems to age, living free of suspicion as a legitimate and highly regarded member of the Wizarding Society:[Professor Tom Marvolo Riddle, Order of Merlin: First Class, Duelling Champion, Expert Potioneer, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and holds history's highest rank in OWLS and NEWTS.]What happens when said professor meets the Boy Who Lived for the first time?------------------------------------------------------------------------I do not own the characters, I only own the changes in the plot. All characters belong to the illustrious and beloved J K Rowling, without whom, we would not have ever delved into the world of Harry Potter.





	1. Prologue

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

"And that ends the discussion on Cursed Artefacts. I expect your essays at my desk on Thursday, along with a detailed study on The Axe of Ragerous and why it is considered one of the deadliest artefacts to exist. Class dismissed."

Riddle set down the chalk and closed the text book. He watched the class scramble out, and glanced upon two lanky boys.

"Mr Potter and Mr Black. I suggest the two of you pick up all the dungbombs you have left inside my classroom, if you don't want to spend detention scrubbing the trophy rooms this evening."

He left the two troublemakers to clear the classroom and headed to his office. Teaching sixth year Gryffindors was a headache, to be honest. Chiefly because of four pesky-, ah, what was it that they called themselves?

'Marauders', he remembered.

Fitting.

"Good afternoon, Tom." Riddle turned in annoyance to see Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Riddle had never liked the man, ever since the ginger (now white) bearded man attempted to persuade the former headmaster, Armando Dippet, to reject his application for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

"I hope you are not too tired for an afternoon tea with me." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. Riddle plastered a false smile on his face.

"Of course not, Headmaster."

He followed the wizened man up the gargoyle staircase, into the Headmaster's study.

"I have had several people ask me, why a brilliant and talented mind like yours is limiting itself to teaching at a school, when you could have such great prospects at the Ministry of Magic." Dumbledore smiled benignly.

"I'm sure you've had the same question directed at you many more times, Dumbledore." Riddle smiled stiffly, he knew where this was headed. The headmaster had called him to _this_ office at _thi_ s particular time of the year far too often, for him to not understand what the wizard needed. The headmaster suspected him of something dark, and was desperate to get him sacked, as he had always been, since Tom Marvolo Riddle first set foot in the school.

"Ah, Tom. I am but an old man, who has made his share of mistakes, seen his share of the world. I will be at ease imparting what little knowledge and wisdom I have gained through my experiences, to young minds. But you-"

"I'm not that young either, Professor." Riddle cut him off.

"But to an old man like me, you will still be that little boy I met in Wool's Orphanage, London."

Riddle winced at the memory of that infernal place. "Hogwarts is my home, Professor Dumbledore. I believe you have never received any complaints about my classes, yes?"

"No, but I do doubt the means you have used to keep it that way." Dumbledore said with a sinister undertone.

"You flatter me, Headmaster. I'm not _that_ accomplished." Riddle laughed dryly and set the teacup down. "If you are done, Professor, then I will be taking my leave."

* * *

"Impudence, that's what it is! Which essay is this, Mr Pettigrew?"

"Uh... Um... The properties of the Axe of Ragerous?"

"If so, why is it titled 'The Properties of Asphodel in Brewing'?"

Pettigrew froze. Black patted his back sympathetically. Professor Tom M. Riddle was not prone to anger often, but when he was, it was not happy news.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I must've handed in the wrong essay." The plump boy began apologising frantically, and Riddle let him off with a three foot essay on the Axe of Ragerous. He returned to grading the remaining essays, but Sirius Black coughed slightly, reminding him of the other reason he had called the Marauder.

"Mr Black, what's going on with Potter?" He was direct, and the boy seemed a bit taken aback. "His poorly written work reflects the chaos within his spirit, so would you care to clarify? I don't think Potter would welcome me snooping into his matters, but if his grades drop, _I will be very much concerned."_ Riddle gestured for the boy to sit.

Black seemed quite flustered, and he scratched his head, looked around and fidgeted.

"Well?"

"Uh, Professor... He's, um, he's in love."

"Send him to the infirmary, then." Riddle replied, continuing to grade papers.

"He didn't swallow a love potion, Professor Riddle, he's _in_ love." Sirius Black grimaced. Riddle frowned. He had a fair idea of whom James Potter was pining over; all he needed was some confirmation.

Sweet, brilliant, Muggle-born Lily Evans.

Riddle sighed.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

Riddle nonchalantly listened to Dolohov report on the new initiation. His army of Death Eaters were increasing. From a group of twenty youths, it had increased to a faction of almost a hundred. It appeared that Lucius Malfoy, Rudolphous Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood had joined. He remembered that it was only a few years ago that the Slytherin trio sat for their NEWTS at Hogwarts.

Ever since Armando Dippet let him have the post of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Riddle had to keep a low profile. He never appeared in front of his Death Eaters, never did any of the work himself. He had to admit, he had changed. Never had he thought Tom Marvolo Riddle would sit inside a comfy office and think up grandiloquent plans to take over the world. He had always imagined himself at the helm, proudly slaughtering the Muggle-lovers and Blood-Traitors.

But he liked it this way. He had the most faithful Abraxas Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov to do his bidding, the only two who knew the face behind the mask of Lord Voldemort. He could happily sit back and watch the abysmal performance of most Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs at advanced hexes, while Malfoy pulled strings at the Ministry, and Dolohov trained his new minions.

Tom returned to Hogwarts to specially-tutor his favourite students: Regulus Black, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, and Lily Evans. The latter three made him constantly think why he was so adamant on pure-blood supremacy.

* * *

Severus Snape and Regulus Black had been initiated into the Death Eaters' faction, the latter, due to sheer pressure from his family. Riddle knew the boy had only wanted to be a professional adventurer. And the former had _other_ reasons for being miserable enough to sign his death contract. Riddle felt sorry for the impoverished, but brilliant boy. He had fallen into depression, and Lucius Malfoy had cajoled him into joining the Death Eaters.

James Potter was marrying Lily Evans, and the ecstatic girl had invited him to the wedding.

* * *

"Class dismissed!"

Riddle left in Hogwarts in a hurry, flooing to Abraxas' private study in the Malfoy Manor. His wizened follower bowed his head in shame.

"Tom, we've lost grievously."

"What do you mean?" Riddle asked sharply. There was something wrong with the way Dolohov and Malfoy were standing, as if they were terrified.

"We had an informant, who overheard a prophecy being made. A prophecy regarding the end of your reign. So we sent a few of the Death Eaters to intercept."

"Well? What was it all about?"

“‘A child born on the 31st of July, born to parents who have thrice defied the Dark Lord, will have powers to vanquish the Dark Lord.’ We decided that such a prediction was dangerous enough to take immediate action, and we sent out Death Eaters to kill the children. What we couldn’t predict was the excellent defences set up by the Order’s wizards.”

“What are our losses?” Riddle sat on the armchair, pondering deeply.

“All the twenty five Death Eaters sent to the Potters’ hideout were… vaporised, it seems. Nagini is... missing.” Malfoy gulped. Riddle stiffened, but let the man continue. “And although Rodolphous and his team managed to capture the Longbottoms, the child escaped. The place was swamped by Order members once we caught the couple.”

Riddle had known that inevitably, the two sides would come into conflict. It could not be helped that the Longbottoms, Lily and the Marauders had refused to come over to the Dark side. They were too much influenced by Dumbledore. Apparently, James and Lily Potter had died, but their child had escaped as well.

Pity.

But very odd. Riddle realised that he needed to do more research on blood wards. The Death Eaters had used the Killing Curse, and it had to have bounced back after amplifying, otherwise there would not have been such a reaction. Much like a modified version of a Shield Charm. “Abraxas, with whom, did you say, were the Longbottoms?”

“The Lestranges, My Lord.”

“Make sure the Order finds them before that insane Black girl does.” Riddle fastened his cloak and apparated back to Hogsmeade. There was bound to be chaos in the Order of the Phoenix, and most of the teachers would be away. Someone _had_ to stay at Hogwarts and make sure none of the teenagers snuck firewhiskey out from the kitchens.

* * *

* * *

 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Tom M. Riddle is sent to pick the Boy Who Lived from his Muggle home by an unsuspecting Professor McGonagall.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Another school term was about to start, and Tom Riddle was returning from Diagon Alley with his supplies for the year. The Wizarding World was still at war, but both sides had reached a stalemate, and were enjoying an uncertain, eerie peace.

“Tom! A moment, please.”

Riddle turned. It was Minerva McGonagall. She invited him into her office for tea.

“Normally, we would have had Hagrid handle such matters, but since he’s away with the war and all-”

Riddle set down his cup with a smile. “What is it, Minerva?” There was something about Professor Tom M. Riddle that unsettled Minerva McGonagall deeply, almost as if she needed to be _terrified_ of him.

“It’s about Harry Potter. Apparently, he has not been getting his Hogwarts letter. Could you-”

“-Pay dear Mr Potter a visit, and hand him his letter? Absolutely.” Riddle couldn’t stop beaming.

Riddle left the Deputy Headmistress’ office, musing deeply. Malfoy had convinced Dolohov to abandon pursuit of the Longbottom boy after personally witnessing the boy’s magical prowess, or (to be specific), lack of it. That left Harry Potter, the mysterious and much celebrated ‘The Boy Who Lived’, who had been quite hidden away for the past ten years. Not even Dolohov’s best Death Eaters had been able to locate the boy.

Now with that oaf, Hagrid, away as an ambassador of peace (he was a half-giant, and thus considered to be best suited for making peace with the giants), and Dumbledore busying himself with a favour to an old colleague of his, Tom Riddle was free to, nay, he had been _invited_ by the unassuming Professor McGonagall, to secure the Boy Who Lived.

He had been aching to meet Dumbledore’s ‘Golden Boy’, after everything that old man had attempted to keep him away from the child. It was only last year that Albus Dumbledore requested the Hogwarts Board of Governors to force him to retire. Riddle had been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for nearly five decades, so it was a safe bet on the Headmaster’s part. But majority of the members of the Board, including the Chairman (Lucius Malfoy) had been students of his, and extremely grateful and loyal students too, it would seem. Tom Marvolo Riddle still proudly graced the post of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

**Privet Drive, Surrey**

Professor Tom M. Riddle stood near the signboard, examining the map. Although he had chosen to wear Muggle clothing, he kept his usual colours: a black suit and his old Slytherin scarf. The female residents of Privet Drive were peeking through half shut windows, craning their necks to see the bewitchingly handsome youth.

Riddle smiled to himself. Making that diary a horcrux had double benefits indeed; he had preserved the vitality of his sixteen year old self. But he had only made one horcrux; the physical agony was far too extreme for him to complete his dream of making seven. He despised the fact that he was cowardly enough to keep telling himself that for now, he was immortal, and that was all that mattered.

“Number Four, Privet Drive.”

Riddle looked at the address on the letter. Number Four seemed to be a wealthy home with an impeccably kept lawn and a sleek and shiny car in the porch. Not as wealthy as the Malfoys, or the Blacks, but certainly well-off for a middle class Muggle home. Of course, Dumbledore’s Golden Boy wouldn’t be staying in anything less. Probably being treated like a prince, for being the Boy Who Lived. On closer inspection, he saw a tightly sealed mail opening. Riddle observed the curious wedge stuffed into the opening, and knocked.

“Hello- oh!” It was a horsy woman who opened the door, and she flushed considerably at the sight of Riddle. The latter smiled charmingly.

“Mrs Petunia Dursley, I presume? I’m Professor Tom Riddle.”

“Please, come inside.” The woman led him to the lounge, where an extremely obese, blonde boy sat munching on sandwiches and watching the telly. A beefy man with a large moustache sat on the other side of the sofa, and Riddle wondered why the piece of furniture hadn’t collapsed yet.

“Vernon, a Professor Riddle to see you.” The woman said, and the beefy man got up. Riddle gave off the impression of extreme polish and wealth (he truly was), and the Muggle man seemed to respect those two elements.

“A professor, you must be from Smeltings, eh?”

“No, not really.” Riddle wondered why the two Muggles had assumed he had come to meet the Muggle. “I came here to speak to Mr Harry Potter. He’s been offered a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-”

“No, you won’t. You’re one of those freaks, aren’t you? No, that boy won’t be going. He’s going to Stonewall High, and that’s final.” Vernon Dursley stood up in anger. Riddle felt a vein twitch. He hated the word ‘freak’, he had encountered enough of it at the orphanage.

“You don’t have a say in that, Mr Dursley. It’s up to Mr Potter to choose to accept or not.” Riddle said quietly. “Where is he?”

“I’m his guardian, and I have full authority to decide for the boy, by the law. And I won’t be paying for some crackpot old fool to be teaching him magic tricks! I’ll beat the freakishness out of that boy if I have to, but no! I definitely won’t be having any of that ‘M’ stuff in my house!” Vernon Dursley seized a golf club and brandished it at Riddle.

“Try me. You, a fat, foul Muggle like you attempt to stop me?” Riddle sneered unpleasantly.

“Petunia, call the police!” Dursley yelled.

 _“Petrificus totalus.”_ Riddle said lazily, and Mrs Dursley froze and fell down stiffly. “Now, Dursley, where is he?” Riddle pointed his wand at the Muggle. The man shouted and swung the club. _“Depulso.”_ The great brute of a man flew back and crashed onto the cabinets. Riddle turned to see a fat, pink face sticking out from behind the couch.

“Tell me, boy, where is Harry Potter?” The fat boy, presumably Potter’s cousin, pointed at the cupboard door under the stairs. Riddle raised an eyebrow and headed to the door. It was bolted tightly, and there were no less than six locks fastened into the wood. _“Alohomora.”_ The bolts clicked and the door swung open to reveal a skinny boy staring back at him with terrified green eyes.

“Harry Potter?”

The boy nodded and backed away cautiously. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Professor Riddle. I teach magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have a place at Hogwarts, Mr Potter.” Riddle handed the boy the letter.

“Magic?” Potter whispered.

“Yes, magic.”

“But... I’m not magical. I’m just Harry.”

“No, Mr Potter, you’re a wizard. Hasn’t anything strange ever occurred around you before? Anything you could never explain?” Riddle gestured for the boy to come out from the cupboard. The latter was silent for a long time, but slowly nodded. Riddle noticed the frail-looking body, and frowned. Was this the wrong Harry Potter, perhaps?

“Well, my hair never stays in place, and doesn’t stay cut after it’s cut.” Harry said suddenly. Riddle snorted.

“That’s the strangest thing you’ve encountered, Potter?” Harry shrugged. Not all the strange experiences he had were pleasant enough to share with a stranger. Riddle looked at the boy keenly. “You look exactly like your father, but you have your mother’s eyes.” The professor smiled. “I taught them both, and quite wonderful students they were, James and Lily.”

Harry was startled. “My parents knew magic?”

“Well, yes. Where do you suppose you get it from?” Riddle watched as the boy opened his letter and read. The Muggle uncle seemed to have gained consciousness, and he jumped up.

“He won’t be going!” The man said fiercely, but he didn’t attack them, having learnt not to anger Riddle.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, so I think it’s time we took this conversation to another place. What say you, Mr Potter?”

“We’re going out?” Harry asked in wonder.

“Of course, we’re going out. Do you think that big prune of a Muggle will pay for your Hogwarts supplies?” Riddle got up and strode out, beckoning Harry to follow. Once they were in a deserted sidewalk, Riddle outstretched his hand. “Ever apparated, Mr Potter? Take my arm.”

Suddenly, Harry felt himself being twisted, and being sucked in through a tight tube. The sensation disappeared moments after, and he found himself in what he assumed to be London. Riddle fixed him with an examining stare. “Merlin, Potter, have you been eating properly? You’re too small for your age.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the boy along, into a pub. There was a toothless, wizened barman.

Riddle headed to a relatively less crowded part of the pub and ordered for snacks. While the boy ate, he found himself wondering why he was being so nice to the boy. A boy who was born to defeat him, at that. Harry looked up gratefully, and Riddle seized the chance to probe into the boy’s mind. The unaware child continued to eat, often sending adoring glances at his saviour.

“Professor Riddle? Could... could you tell me more about my parents?” The question startled Riddle out of his musing.

“Hasn’t your Aunt told you about them?”

“It was a forbidden topic at the Dursleys. All I know is that they died in a car crash, and that’s where I got this.” Harry pulled aside his fringe, revealing a scar. Riddle was shocked, the wound was surely made by Nagini’s fangs. The snake had attempted to swallow the boy whole, so where was she?

“A car crash could never have killed James and Lily Potter. They died in the Wizarding War. Those people who killed them, tried to kill you too. No one knows why, Harry, but you survived.” Riddle said quietly. “Your father was quite the troublemaker at school. Your mother, she was a favourite student of mine. Witty and kind, brilliant at charms. A wonderful witch. They were Head Boy and Girl, at their time.”

It was getting late, so Riddle took Harry to Gringotts. The boy was amazed at the Wizarding bank, especially at the sight of Goblins. Riddle remembered his first time at Gringotts; he had decided to have a vault after winning a Ministry Scholarship, and the goblins had been very cold to him. They were not a friendly lot.

* * *

* * *

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant trip to Diagon Alley

**Diagon Alley, London**

Riddle left Harry to find his way around the Diagon Alley shops, and waited at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. The situation had not been what Riddle expected, and he was sure Dumbledore was not exactly ignorant of the boy’s living conditions. McGonagall was quite right to warn him that the Dursleys were not just Muggles, but the worst kind of Muggles possible.

If the boy were to go back, surely that foul Muggle would beat the boy or starve him, or something of the like. After all, Riddle had humiliated the man in his own home. He had seen enough from legilimency on the boy, to know that those Muggles hated anything to do with magic.

“Dumbledore!” He hissed under his breath. That old man was not right in the head. Leaving children in such places, Riddle knew it too well to recognise that it was all part of Dumbledore’s grand scheme. He had seen several children from magic-hating Muggle homes, and knew that the elderly wizard would have no qualms about sending them back there.

Riddle spotted the Malfoy family enter the pub. Narcissa saw him and immediately brought his son along. “Professor Riddle, what a pleasant surprise!”

Riddle smiled lazily. “How is dear Abraxas?” He asked. His faithful follower was ill, and close to breathing his last.

“Father is doing well for his age.” Lucius answered. Riddle didn’t trust the younger Malfoy to take over his father’s mantle yet, and would be very sorry if Abraxas departed.

“This is Draco?”

“Ah, yes. We were getting his robes fitted. He’s attending Hogwarts this year.” Narcissa beamed proudly at her son. “Good afternoon, then, Professor.” The Malfoys turned to leave when Riddle remembered something.

“And Lucius, I appreciate what you did at the Board of Governors.”

“I only did what I had to, Professor. Father speaks very highly of you.” Lucius nodded as Riddle picked up his cloak and headed to Diagon Alley. As promised, Harry was waiting outside Flourish and Blotts with a multitude of shrunk packages. All that was remaining was his wand. The boy followed Riddle to a small and dusty shop in a narrow street.

‘OLLIVANDERS’, it said.

Riddle waited on the three-legged stood while Ollivander measured Harry and began handing him wands. Soon the wands began piling up on the table, and Ollivander grew happier.

“Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Once Harry picked up the wand, the atmosphere in the shop changed, and Ollivander fixed his customer with a misty-eyed, strange look. “Curious. Very curious. I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. It so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather. Just one other, and that wand belongs to the very person who brought you here, Mr Potter.”

Riddle was startled.

“Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and three-quarter, smooth and powerful.” Ollivander continued, smiling mysteriously. “Very curious indeed.”

Once Harry had paid for his wand, the two headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, Riddle still in his unnerved trance.

“Professor Riddle, what’s a Hufflepuff?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Hufflepuff is not a thing, it’s a Hogwarts house.” Riddle chucked.

“Is it a bad thing to be put into Hufflepuff?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“I met a boy at Madam Malkins, who told me so.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuffs, they are known for their steadfast loyalty. But personally, I’d say they’re a bunch of softies, and half of them are dunderheads when it comes to my subject. There are three other houses. Ravenclaw is known for being clever, but there have been several exceptions from all the other houses. Your mother, for example, was quite a gifted witch, and she was from Gryffindor. Then there’s Slytherin, my house, to be exact. We’ve had our share of gifted students as well.”

Riddle left Harry back at the Dursley’s, with a not-so-disguised threat to Vernon Dursley that should the boy ever suffer harm at their hands, their figurative meat-ball of a son would be turned into the literal equivalent.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Professor Tom M. Riddle stood on the astronomy tower, watching the carriages rush into the castle. He stared at the thestrals, feeling a faint unease at the sight of their leathery wings. He could see the lanterns on the boats carrying the first years across the lake.

Potter.

He had made it safely into Platform 93/4, then.

Riddle wrapped his cloak around him, and made his way down to the Great Hall. Minerva McGonagall led the wide-eyed first years to the Sorting Hat, which was singing merrily. Riddle had always found it amusing, that in his fifty years at Hogwarts, the Hat had never once repeated a song. But the fact that a mere object like the Hat could possibly be the most powerful legilimens in the world always disturbed him deeply.

McGonagall was calling the names of the first-years. Riddle found his gaze entirely on two boys; Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter. Despite looking unthreatening, Riddle knew that either one of them could very well bring Lord Voldemort down.

“Longbottom, Neville!” McGonagall said.

Riddle waited, tensing.

“Gryffindor!”

He eyed the round-faced boy, who had eagerly run off the stool, and had to be called back to take the hat off his head. Riddle sank back to his thoughts, until an eager tug on his sleeve by Professor Flitwick broke him out of his reveries. He realised that Harry was about to be sorted. The hat was on his head for quite some time, but he was proven not to be a Hat-stall, as the hall soon echoed with a loud ‘Slytherin!’ Riddle was baffled, but couldn’t help it when a smile crawled up his face.

Well, this was quite the turn of events, wasn’t it?

* * *

Riddle never began classes with Ravenclaw by asking questions, it was pointless. It was a given that if they made it to Ravenvlaw, they must have read the text books at least three times. However, combining a class of Ravenclaw with Gryffindor first years, that probability downright reduced to half.

“The Dark Arts,” He began, “Has always been present wherever there is magic. Such is the duality of the world. This particular branch of magic uses a variety of complex spells, runes and occasionally, objects. It is the same as all other branches, except that the process, or the intent, or the result has inhumane elements in it. Hence labelled Dark, and scorned upon. My class is merely to teach you to identify Dark magic, and counter it wherever possible.

I will not tolerate any disturbances in my class, be warned. Open your textbook, page fourteen.”

There was the sound of children scrambling for books and quills. At the corner of the room, Longbottom seemed to be distracted. In the end, a bushy haired girl shared her textbooks with him.

“Today, we start with magical creatures. Since the nature of the magic within most creatures is unknown, it is assumed by the ignorant witches and wizards that they are, by nature, dark. I assure you, if you label anything unknown as Dark, then we would be living in a pitch black world. Since we’re not, it is safe to assume that only creatures with extremely malicious tendencies should be considered Dark.

Seeing the drenched states which several of you are in, I take it that you have met our resident poltergeist. Tell me, would you consider Peeves a Dark creature?”

Several hands rose into the air. “Yes!” The class replied, especially the wet ones.

“Wrong.” He turned to the bushy haired Gryffindor, whose answer had fallen on deaf ears in the class half-filled with Ravenclaws. “Care to explain, Miss-”

“Granger, Sir. Poltergeists are by nature mischievous creatures, but their actions cannot be classified under malicious intent.”

Riddle beamed. “Excellent, Miss Granger. A poltergeist cannot be considered a Dark creature the same way a prankster cannot be considered a Dark wizard. Five points to Gryffindor.”

* * *

“I swear, he hates me!” Harry complained to Ron as the duo left potions. Despite him being sorted into Slytherin, Ronald Weasley had been nice to him. That was quite something, considering the rivalry between the two houses.

“We had Professor Riddle in the morning, he seemed pretty alright.” The red-head shrugged. Professor Snape was rumoured to hate Gryffindors, and show favouritism to Slytherins. But that didn’t seem to the case with Harry Potter. “Mum said Riddle taught her and Dad when they were in Hogwarts. Blimey, he doesn’t look older than Bill!”

The two didn’t have time to ponder on the secret behind Riddle’s eternal youth, because they had to split up for their classes.

“See you at lunch, then!” Harry waved to Ron and headed to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ron had been full of praises about Professor Riddle, and Harry was eager to sit in the class of his Head of House.

* * *

Harry was very excited about Quidditch lessons, the main sport of the Wizarding World, about which Ron had animatedly chatted all day. Slytherin had flying lessons with Gryffindor, and the first years assembled at the ground. Madam Hooch had laid down an array of _broomsticks._

“You will extend your wand arm, and say ‘Up’, until the broom flies into your hand.” Madam Hooch said, and the class echoed loudly with ‘Up!’

Harry’s broom immediately flew into his hand, as did Malfoy’s. Once everyone had managed to get their broom in their hand, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount it.

“On the count of three, all of you will kick off-”

A very jittery Neville Longbottom had managed to kick himself up, and the broom flew higher and higher, and threw the boy wildly back on the ground. Madam Hooch quickly left to take the boy to the Hospital Wing, telling the class to stay put. Not soon after, Draco Malfoy was up on his broomstick, with a clear ball in his hand. Harry recognised it immediately as Neville’s remembrall.

“I should leave it somewhere for him to find, don’t you think? A tree, perhaps?”

“Give it back, Malfoy!” Harry stepped forward with his broom. Malfoy sneered and flew off, and without thinking, Harry kicked off and raced after him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

* * *

 


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a basic retelling of Harry's adventures from Riddle's point of view

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Riddle almost choked on his cup of tea when Draco Malfoy whizzed past his office window, followed by _Harry Potter._ He set down the cup and rushed downstairs, only to witness Malfoy throwing a remembrall, and Potter diving perfectly to catch it.

The boy landed with a triumphant grin, only to have it fade upon the sight of his Head of House.

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, follow me.” He led the two boys into his office, and closed the door. “For Merlin’s sake, do you realise how lucky you were to- That was your first flying lesson, was it not?” The boys nodded. “While I must say that was quite foolish (and arrogant) of you, it has occurred to me that both of you seem to show remarkable skill on a broomstick. I take it that this was your first time on a broom, Mr Potter?”

Harry nodded again, his throat dry. Was Professor Riddle going to expel him?

“No, I’m not going to expel you. But you have to reflect on the sheer danger of that stunt you just pulled, and therefore, _both of you_ will report to my office this evening for detention, after your classes. Is that clear?”

“But, Professor, I’ve been flying for-”

“I don’t care, Mr Malfoy. You ignored the explicit orders of your coach and put yourself at risk. That alone is sufficient to warrant detention.” Riddle opened the door and let the two out, and returned to his desk, sighing. Like father, like son. However, a smile made its way up his lips as an idea struck him.

* * *

Harry and Malfoy glared daggers at each other as they catalogued and rearranged the books on the classroom shelves. Riddle was grading essays, and pretended not to notice.

“Ever heard of a Wizards duel, Potter?” Malfoy whispered. “Let’s see who the better man is. Tonight, nine ‘o’ clock, the trophy room.” Harry nodded curtly as he pushed a copy of ‘Curses and Countercurses’ into the bookshelf. The two boys returned to the Slytherin dormitories, arms aching after a night’s worth of lifting heavy books. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was groaning and complaining about his sore muscles.

“About that duel-” Harry began, but Malfoy collapsed onto the bed.

“It’s postponed.” The blonde drawled and kicked his shoes off. Harry grinned as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted.

Professor Tom M. Riddle waited in the trophy room in vain, thinking to himself why he was chasing after two troublemakers, when he could be doing much better things like figuring out who had attempted to break into Gringotts the past month.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had called an emergency staff meeting immediately after he returned from the Flamels’. Apparently, the vault that had been broken into had belonged to Nicholas Flamel. At present, Dumbledore was trusted with the safekeeping of the Philosopher’s Stone, and he needed the teachers to help him make some sort of an obstacle course, or so it seemed to Riddle.

He wondered why the elderly wizard had not chosen to draw powerful wards and curses around the stone, instead of keeping it inside a secret trapdoor, in a corridor where curious students were very likely to wander into. But the Headmaster was cunning enough to request help from all the teachers present, on the condition that they would not be allowed to see the enchantments their colleagues had made.

It also seemed that Hagrid had returned, with yet another horrendous pet: a baby Cerberus, to be exact. In the next few days, Riddle noticed Severus cooking up gallons of _growth enhancement potions._  He had a fair idea of what use the Cerberus would be put to.

On the next Hogsmeade visit, Riddle seized the chance and apparated to Malfoy Manor. Abraxas was weak and bedridden, but the cunning glint in the man’s eyes had not vanished. Dolohov was summoned, and the three began plotting nefariously on an idea that would ensure the Malfoy’s survival. Riddle ordered Dolohov to investigate on the matter of the Gringotts break-in, and identify the person responsible. It was quite annoying how Dumbledore managed to pin _every single misdeed_ on Lord Voldemort. But Riddle couldn’t deny that it was to his advantage in making a name for himself.

Before the war came to a stalemate, the Death Eaters had captured and killed several of the Order members, and vice versa. The Lestranges, the Carrows, Mulciber and a considerable number of Death Eaters who had proudly flaunted their status were in Azkaban. The werewolves had returned to hiding after the Order cut off their access to Wolfsbane potion, and the Giants were a difficult lot to coerce into participating in a war that wasn’t theirs.

Added to those was the fact that since Abraxas Malfoy became bedridden, the Dark side had lost a lot of power over the Ministry of Magic, and the Wizengamot. Lucius was rich and influential enough, but he lacked the experience to manipulate matters as smoothly as his father could. And therefore, it was of the utmost importance to revive Malfoy Sr. to full health, take over the Ministry, and then establish control over the war once more.

* * *

‘Somebody’ had convinced Peeves to drop the Vanishing Cabinet down onto the staircases, resulting in the Slytherin seeker being hammered into place inside the trick step, just a week before the first match of the season. Riddle frowned, the boy had to be taken to St. Mungo’s due to critical head injury, and Slytherin’s replacement seeker had graduated last year.

“Mr Potter, a word please?”

Riddle dragged the boy away from his Gryffindor friends and into his office. He cast a silencing charm and gestured the boy to sit. “Potter, I’ve decided that you’re going to be Slytherin’s seeker for the next Quidditch match.”

Harry was stunned. “Professor, I’ve never played Quidditch before!”

“That can easily be arranged. I’ve booked the pitch for the next week, and I’ve been through the clauses that prevent first-years from playing. I have found a loophole that will let you play for the team.” Riddle smiled wickedly. “I can’t wait to give those Gryffindors a nasty shock, ever since Minerva took up coaching the team, their chasers have been snatching the Quidditch cup from Slytherin.”

Riddle was interrupted by loud knocking on the door, and Marcus Flint entered.

“Flint, Potter’s going to be the replacement seeker, so make sure he’s trained well before the match. And kindly make sure you don’t foul, one foul was enough to initiate Professor McGonagall’s vendetta against generations of the Slytherin team. I don’t want another one. Oh, one more thing. Let’s keep Potter a secret, shall we? I don’t want anyone snooping around when you practise.”

* * *

Slytherin flattened Gryffindor in the first match, Harry having caught the snitch with his mouth. That made him quite a celebrity in the House, and Professor Riddle decided that he could be the main seeker; apparently he was a natural Quidditch player. Just like his father, who had been Gryffindor’s best chaser in his time. Ron was furious that Harry did not tell him he was playing Quidditch, but forgave him as soon as Harry let him take the Nimbus Two Thousand for a ride.

Harry and Ron found themselves in detentions with Professor Snape so often that they had started to suspect fishy things about the man. Professor Riddle found the two conspiring against Snape, and awarded the duo a smack on the head each, for putting their noses into unwanted business. But Riddle couldn’t deny that there was something strange about the Potions Master, the otherwise dungeon bat seemed to be prowling around the third-floor corridor too often.

* * *

The Halloween feast was interrupted by a muffled roar from the dungeons. Riddle was startled, it was the war-cry of a mountain troll. How in the world had it even got inside the castle? He saw the other three House Prefects gathering the students, leading them to their respective Houses. Severus Snape was missing, and this worried him greatly. He pulled out his wand and headed for the third-floor corridor.

Harry saw Ron and Neville sneak out from the Gryffindor table, and ran after them. But he was pulled back by Draco Malfoy.

“Blimey, Potter, are you crazy? They’re heading to the dungeons!”

“For your information, Malfoy, our House is in the dungeons.” Harry snapped back as he attempted to pull himself out of the blonde’s grip.

“I’m not stupid, I know you’re just following the Weasel and Longbottom in some thoughtless heroism.”

“Sod off, Malfoy. I’m going to help them. Ron wouldn’t do something reckless without good reason.” Harry wrenched himself free and ran after the two Gryffindors. He realised that they were headed for the girls’ lavatories, from where a shrill scream had just echoed. Loud crashes and explosions could be heard from the lavatory, and he ran inside to see Neville and Ron ducking and running over the stalls, escaping from a huge mountain troll. When it was certain they were cornered, Ron pointed his wand at the troll’s club and cried, _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ Harry saw Hermione Granger at the other corner of the room, almost frozen. An idea struck him, and he ran to the girl and shook her wildly.

“Ron, Neville, cast it on the troll!”

Four wands sent the levitating charm at the troll and suspended it in the air. The creature was not very clever, so once its feet were off the floor, it began panicking and thrashing. Yet, the power of a levitating charm cast by four first-years could only last so long, and the troll crashed unceremoniously onto the floor, shattering a few tiles where its head hit.

“Is it dead?” Ron asked.

“No, just knocked out, I guess.” Harry replied, patting Hermione, who was trembling visibly. Just then, he saw Malfoy running breathlessly, pulling Professor Riddle along.

“Weasel might have enough brains, but he’s got _Longbottom_ with him. And besides, Slytherins stick together, Potter.” Malfoy panted, and he stopped on seeing the enormous troll on the floor.

Professor Riddle eyed the troll with a mixture of emotions, before looking straight at the four students inside the wreck of a lavatory. He seemed to be very, very angry. “Boy Who Lived or not, Potter, you have some nerve thinking you could go troll-hunting! And you two, well, I should have known, with your Gryffindor bravado, that you would be foolish enough to put yourselves in _such danger!_ You could have gotten yourselves killed!”

Riddle took deep calming breaths. He cast an immobilising charm on the troll, and assessed the damage. To his immense relief, none of the students seemed to be harmed. By then, the other teachers had gathered, and Riddle left Minerva McGonagall to handle the three Gryffindors. He frowned as he left; he hadn’t been able to see what Snape was up to, because Draco had stubbornly dragged him to the girls’ lavatories.

But since Snape hadn’t fled, so the Philosopher’s Stone had to be safe, for now.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 kudos? I can't believe it. It's more than I've ever received for all my original fictions combined.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Protagonist and Nemesis bonding time~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Adafrog and Drewbie:  
> Thank you for commenting, it gives me a sense of satisfaction and a small note on my progress!  
>  A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating earlier, it's just that there was no internet connection. So, as an apology, enjoy two chapters!

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

Dolohov had a fairly clear idea of who the Gringotts thief was, and he had been ecstatic to report it to Riddle. Quirinus Quirrell, a talented young wizard who had studied in Albania until the Wizarding War came to a deadlock. He had attempted to apply for posts in several schools and official posts, and after being rejected continuously for his lack of social skills and communication, he had taken to petty thievery and black-market dealings.

Riddle was now sure that Quirrell had somehow managed to enter Hogwarts undetected, _and_ smuggle a mountain troll from Albania. The youth was certainly talented. But that didn’t explain what Snape had to do with the Stone.

“Antosha, what of Severus? Is he under your orders to help Quirrell, or to retrieve the stone?”

“No, My Lord. Snape seems a very passive character in this war. We haven’t had contact with him in years. It is unclear if he has jumped ship.” Dolohov replied, making a mental note to look upon the matter. He added suddenly, “I remember now, Severus Snape was the one who told us about the prophecy.” Riddle’s eyes widened as realisation dawned on him.

Lily Evans.

“It seemed to me that he’s quite comfortable under Dumbledore’s wing. Are you sure he’s not spying for us?” Riddle frowned. Snape was a valuable pawn, and if he had switched sides, it was going to be a problem. Dolohov shook his head, contemplating whether to dispose of Severus Snape.

Abraxas stirred in his sleep. Riddle furrowed his brows, the Malfoy seemed to be in pain. It was amusing that through years of plotting and conspiring together, making grand plans to take over the world, he had come to consider Abraxas Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov his friends...

 _No! What was he thinking about? The Dark Lord does not have friends._ Perhaps, being around kids for too long had rotted his brains.

But still, he very much desired to restore Abraxas to full health.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Christmas was a foul season. Everyone got presents but him. It always put Riddle in a bad mood. He stormed into the library and shut himself behind dusty tomes. The Mirror of Erised had been taken out of the Room of Requirement, and Riddle needed to know what plans Dumbledore had for it.

He was busying himself in the Restricted section, and did not realise it was past curfew, well into midnight. Suddenly, there were footsteps, and out of instinct, he cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and waited. A mysterious, disembodied hand floated in with a lantern, and reached out for a book. Riddle tensed, knowing the nature of the book. He grabbed the hand, and whoever it was, screamed. The book fell open and wailed shrilly. He heard Peeves flying over to add fuel to the fire, and dropped the disillusionment charm.

“Professor Riddle?” A voice gasped. It was Potter, and his invisibility cloak fell off.

“Students! Students in the Restricted section! Naughty, naughty, you got caughty~ Professor Snape, they’re here!” Peeves sang.

Riddle didn’t waste any time, he seized Harry and bolted. If Snape was Dumbledore’s spy, he had to be very careful. That annoyance of a Headmaster was waiting for a chance to oust him from the school. Harry seemed to have figured that the professor was as much of a fugitive as he was, and threw the invisibility cloak over both of them.

Snape and Filch seemed to be heading their way, so Harry pulled Riddle into an abandoned Charms classroom and waited for the footfalls to fade. Both hearts pounded wildly, waiting for each other to ask the big questions: ‘Why were you there?’ and ‘Why did you flee?’

“Potter, why do you have an invisibility cloak?” Riddle asked finally.

“Uh... it was a Christmas present.” Harry replied, swallowing audibly. “I was… uh, doing some research…”

“At the middle of the night?” Asked Riddle. He looked into the boy’s eyes and was amused to see that both of them were there for the same reasons: the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry was very quiet for a moment.

“Professor, why did you run?”

It was Riddle’s turn to swallow. “I was doing some research that I did not want Professor Snape to see.” He said, a rogue, mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. There seemed to be a certain element of trust and connection between them, and an amiable silence ensued as both teacher and student moved to examine the large mirror in the classroom.

“Professor Riddle! I can see my family!” The boy shouted gleefully. Riddle stared in confusion. This had to be the Mirror of Erised, then. But why was it not showing the total world domination and Muggle enslavement that was his dream?

* * *

After that night at the Restricted section, neither of them had said a word. Harry had shown the mirror to Ron and Draco (he had become good friends with the blonde after the incident with the troll), hoping to show them his parents. But all Ron had seen was himself all grown up, a Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and receiving the House Cup from Professor Dumbledore. And all Draco had seen was being praised and loved by his parents.

The next time Harry went to the Mirror, Professor Riddle was standing there, looking lost and confused. Harry wondered what the man had seen, to have such a look of pain amidst the confusion. Riddle turned slowly and took Harry’s hand.

“It’s not real, Harry. What you see in this mirror is only your truest desire. You cannot keep coming back, because your parents are not coming back. This mirror is a terrible creation, people could rip their souls out, begging it to give them what they see.”

* * *

When Riddle returned from Malfoy Manor with books on alchemy, he was alarmed to see a hundred points less on the Slytherin hourglass. They had lost nearly all that they had gained from that last Quidditch match, putting the House in third place. Gryffindor was last place. Once he was back in the staff room, he heard the story from Minerva McGonagall.

“Potter and Malfoy. Why am I not surprised? Snooping around the astronomy tower at midnight, with Longbottom and Granger, of all people!”

“They have detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest.” McGonagall said simply. Riddle sighed and returned to his book.

* * *

**The Forbidden Forest**

Harry and Draco walked cautiously through the forest, looking for unicorns. Someone had been attacking unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. Occasionally, Draco would punch Harry wildly.

“Saint Potter, thinking he’s always right, and getting into scrapes like some bloody Gryffindor!”

“I can hear you, Malfoy.”

“I told you not to go, Potter! What did you tell me? You had the cloak, and that it would be _perfectly fine!_ Now we’ve lost the lead, and Quidditch season is almost over, so how on Earth are we going to win the House Cup?”

“Shut up, Malfoy. If you hadn’t tripped over Neville, we wouldn’t have been caught. Who told you to come looking for us anyway?”

“I was worried…” Malfoy mumbled. “And it’s not my fault that brainless oaf decided to sleep on the stairway. What was he doing sleeping there instead of using a proper bed like normal human beings?”

“No idea.” Harry said honestly. Malfoy was about to retort when Harry heard sounds from nearby and clamped his hands over the blonde’s mouth. The two climbed down and hid behind a bush, horrified. A hooded figure was hauling an injured unicorn foal into a sack. Draco whispered that the skin, bones and the horn of the unicorn would be sold in places like Knockturn Alley, and the flesh and blood would be used for illegal potionmaking.

Draco’s silvery blonde hair shone brightly in the moonlight. Apparently, it was not only Harry who spotted that.

 _“Incarcerous!”_ The hooded figure shouted, and suddenly, Draco was tightly bound. The boy struggled and shouted.

“Unhand me, you peasant! Or my Father will hear about this! I’ll make sure you’re sent to Azkaban!” The hooded figure walked to Draco, pointing the wand at his face.

“You’ve seen me. I can’t let you go. _Obli-”_

Harry jumped out of the bush and threw himself on top of the figure, tackling it to the ground. But a skinny eleven year old boy was no match for an adult wizard, and he found himself getting dangled upside down. Suddenly, the figure dropped him and fled, leaving the unicorn behind. Harry crawled to the creature, which seemed to be breathing its last. Its golden coat and tiny horn dripped blood. Harry felt an immense sadness as the foal gazed up piteously at him. The sound of hooves broke him off his reverie, and he rushed to Draco. Moments later, they were cornered by _centaurs._

“We didn’t do it, I swear!” Harry threw his hands protectively around Draco, who was still bound stiff. One of the centaurs, Firenze, took Harry and Draco back to Hagrid, and warned them not to wander around the forests again. The children returned to Hogwarts, fear and restlessness creeping up their veins.

* * *

“It must have been You-Know-Who.” Said Ron, in awe. “I’m dead sure it’s You-Know-Who, only he would be heartless enough to kill baby unicorns.” The trio was sitting at a corner of the library, speaking in hushed tones.

“Is he in need of money? Draco told me whoever it was, was going to sell its parts in Knockturn Alley.” Harry scratched his head.

“Harry, don’t stick around with him, his parents are followers of You-Know-Who! He might be pretending to be friendly, you know, to lure you into You-Know-Who’s clutches.” Ron whispered.

“That’s very rude of you, Weasel.” Draco said snidely and joined their table. “Even if I am of the opinion that the Dark Lord should get rid of blood traitors like you, I’m not a backstabbing scoundrel.”

“Boys, please! Focus on the issue, will you? Now that we know Snape knows how to get past Fluffy, we can’t wait anymore. He’ll try to get inside and steal the stone the moment Professor Dumbledore’s not here in the castle.” Hermione folded her arms and glared at the three boys.

“I’d appreciate it, Granger, if you didn’t talk rubbish about my godfather behind his back.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I can’t have you running off to tell Snape that we’re onto him. _Petrificus Totalus!”_ Hermione cast the body-binding hex on the blonde and told Harry to take him to the Slytherin dormitories. Riddle watched from a faraway table as the two Slytherins departed.

A first-year who could cast a proper body-binding hex. Impressive.

* * *

* * *

 


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Lord to the rescue!

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Albus Dumbledore had gone on an important trip to the Ministry of Magic. Severus Snape was not present at the Great Hall for lunch. Perhaps, the Potions Master had made his move? Riddle quickly set out. He was alarmed to find Harry and his two Gryffindor friends (Riddle had secretly dubbed them ‘The Idiot Trio’) sneaking into the third-floor corridor.

“What are you doing here? Go back to your Common Rooms, weren’t you warned to not approach this corridor?”

“But Professor, Sn- somebody is trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!” The three cried out together.

“I see. I won’t ask how you came upon this information, but I’ll tell Professor Dumbledore. Now off you go.” Riddle made sure the children had gone, before rushing to the dungeons to check on Snape.

As expected, the man was not there. Riddle half flew to the third-floor corridor, only to see the Cerberus growling angrily at the open trapdoor. He quickly confunded the creature and jumped into the trapdoor landing on something soft and slippery, and felt it wrap around him.

_“Lumos.”_

The Devil’s Snare withdrew and Riddle ran to the next door. The room was full of flying keys, and the other door was locked.

_“Diffindo!”_

The door blasted open. Riddle began to doubt whether Dumbledore had intentionally left the stone so unguarded, so as to let Snape or Quirrell steal it. Ron Weasley was lying immobile amongst a pile of rubble that probably had been giant Chess pieces. He checked the vitals of the boy and started healing the wounds.

“Weasley, didn’t I tell you to stay put?” Riddle snarled.

“Professor, Harry and Hermione…” The boy groaned. The door suddenly opened and an uninjured Hermione ran to Ron. She froze at Riddle’s stern look. He wordlessly indicated that she take Ron back to the Hospital Wing and wait for their detention. The professor continued his way through the room of potions, banishing the purple and black fire with a countercurse.

Honestly, had Dumbledore designed this as an obstacle-course for a couple of first-years?

The next room would be Riddle’s creation, a series of hexes and wards as advanced as one could find in the Restricted Section. He was relieved that at least he had taken it seriously and placed proper wards on the room guarding the stone. Quirrell was throwing curses at Harry, who ran and ducked, to no avail. Fortunately, the man wasn’t attempting to kill him, and therefore, the attacks were only stinging hexes, tripping jinxes, confounding curses and spells of the sort.

Harry had recognised the voice as that of the unicorn-killer from the forest, and he was immensely glad when Professor Riddle entered the room. The two men immediately started duelling, and the thief seemed to have realised that he stood no chance against the formidable professor.

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ Quirrell cried. Riddle mostly used non-verbal hexes, to increase his advantage. A silent shield bounced the spell off, and the professor retaliated with explosive hexes, putting his opponent permanently on defence. Several of Riddle’s spells seemed to miss, to the relief of the young thief.

_“Protego! Rictu-”_

He was silenced as a sphere of magic enveloped him, locking him in. It appeared that Riddle’s spells had not missed at all; they were slow runic binds aimed at the floor and the walls, they had crept stealthily onto him while he fought, and activated.

 _“Expelliarmus.”_ Riddle said triumphantly, and caught the thief’s wand. He walked over to Harry, and began checking if the boy was alright; and finally, he knocked the boy out with a spell. Quirrell watched with wide eyes. Riddle picked Harry up and blasted the final door open. The Mirror of Erised glimmered in the dim light of the torches on the walls. Tom Riddle walked haughtily into the room, floating Quirrell behind him. If his calculations were correct, he had less than five minutes before Dumbledore returned from the Ministry.

Riddle set Harry down, and thought back to what he had read about the Mirror of Erised. If what he saw in the mirror was his heart’s desire, it could be interpreted in another way, and Riddle smiled to himself. That was why he needed Harry, he could not do this without the boy’s presence in the room. He braced his fingers, inhaled deeply, and smashed the glass with all his might.

The Mirror of Erised shattered into a thousand pieces.

He observed the floor carefully and picked up a piece from the floor. This piece was redder than the other blood-stained pieces, so red it could be something else entirely. Quirrell gasped as Riddle turned with a smile that could only be understated as villainous.

“Poor Mr Quirrell, you should not have come here. Why were you after the stone?” Riddle probed into the youth’s mind, and marvelled at the market price of the blood-red stone. “This is a priceless treasure, are you so senseless that you’d sell it? Money, versus immortality, isn’t it an obvious choice?”

Riddle quietly healed his hand and picked Harry up. “I’ll be leaving you here, then. Good afternoon, Quirinus.” He had reached the door when he turned in afterthought. _“Obliviate.”_

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

Abraxas Malfoy gulped down the golden coloured elixir and felt warmth seeping in through his pores. Riddle and Dolohov watched with interest as the elderly and ill Malfoy started to de-age quite a bit. The colour had returned to his pale cheeks, and his grey, translucent hair retuned to its standard Malfoy-blonde shade. Abraxas slowly struggled out of bed and balanced himself on his feet.

“It’s a miracle!” He breathed joyfully.

“Only I can be immortal, but I could use you two by my side for a while.” Riddle grinned as he fastened his cloak. “I’d better go before Dumbledore realises I’m up to something. Now that you’re up and well, you lot can clean the cauldrons by yourself.”

Riddle flooed back to his office and headed to the Hospital Wing. He had not been able to check on Weasley, who had been injured the most. He glanced at the Slytherin hourglass as he passed the Great Hall, by great difficulty, Slytherin had managed to make up for the points lost, and now was tied with Ravenclaw in first place. But knowing Dumbledore… He had an ill-feeling in his stomach.

Ron Weasley was up, chatting happily with Hermione. Harry was still asleep, having been hit by several of Quirrell’s hexes. Interestingly, Draco was pacing along their bedsides, often throwing glares at the other three. If looks could kill, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would be dead now. Riddle sat on Harry’s bed and kindly asked Ron how he was.

His foot collided with some sort of ceramic as he stretched them. Amused, he peered under Harry’s bed to see a well-decorated lavatory-seat. Ron blushed furiously when Riddle uncovered another one under the red-head’s bed.

Must be the Weasley twins’ idea of a get-well gift.

“They sing?” Riddle asked, stifling his laughter, as the two toilet-seats began chorusing Christmas Carols. He had to commend the twins’ ingenuity. Even the Marauders had not thought of _this._ Moments later, he found himself thrown out of the Hospital Wing along with the two lavatory-seats by a very displeased Madam Pomfrey. He ducked into a corridor and had his fill of unrestrained laughter.

At least, now he understood what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised.

* * *

Potter had performed very well in the exams in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape kept complaining that Potter was only a good-for-nothing and arrogant brat, and that his ‘miserable’ performance in Potions was second to none but Longbottom. To no one’s surprise, Hermione Granger was at the top of her class. Riddle had conceded that she might be the most brilliant witch of her age.

Slytherin had scraped points again, with great difficulty and was now first place with a narrow lead against Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The Great Hall was decorated in green and silver, and Riddle wore his old House scarf over his pitch-black robes, a trace of Slytherin pride in his handsome face. So far, Dumbledore had not attempted any funny business. It was the end of the year, and the House Cup would be given away the moment the entire school gathered.

The Slytherin Prefects glared daggers at their Gryffindor counterparts, and Harry felt Draco squeeze his hand. The blonde seemed very excited as Dumbledore took the stand. He counted the points; Slytherin had first position.

“Yes, well-done, Slytherin. However, recent events have to be taken into account, and a few last-minute points have to be awarded.” Riddle felt his fingers go cold as he heard this. “First - to Mr Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of Wizard Chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

The cheers from Gryffindor table were deafening.

“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Gryffindor was leading. Draco clenched his fist furiously.

“Third – to Mr Harry Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Slytherin House fifty points.”

Riddle was holding his breath now. Slytherin was tied with Gryffindor now. What was that old coot playing at?

“There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but just as much to stand up to your friends. Therefore, I award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom. It seems we need a little change of decoration.” He clapped, and the green and silver hangings changed to scarlet and gold.

The hall exploded in cheers, Slytherin had lost its House Cup after six successive victories. Riddle sighed. He wondered what on earth had merited Longbottom ten points. Definitely not academic, he thought furiously.

* * *

Riddle was packing his books and apparel into a trunk when someone knocked.

“Enter.”

It was Harry. He held a look of resignation.

“Professor, I was wondering if I could stay here, at Hogwarts, for the summer. I don’t think the Dursleys would appreciate me turning up at their doorstep after, uh...” He fiddled with his buttons, and Riddle felt an odd sense of déjà-vu. He pushed the boy onto a chair and rummaged in his shelves.

“Have a biscuit, Harry.”

“Can I not go back, Professor? Hogwarts is my home.”

Riddle sighed heavily. “Harry, as much as I empathise with you, our dear Headmaster isn’t going to give in just like that. Believe me, I’ve tried it for seven years.”

“You?” Harry looked up at him in surprise.

“I spent my childhood in a Muggle orphanage.” Riddle had no idea why he was telling Harry this, but he continued. “I believe it was quite similar to your ‘home’. Muggles who hated magic. Now, I suggest that you go and pack. The train leaves awfully soon.”

The boy got up dejectedly and walked off. Riddle felt a mixture of curious emotions stirring inside him.

“Potter, write to me.”

Harry turned in surprise.

“Write to me.” Riddle continued. “Every week. Everything that happens to you, I want to know. I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express with a heavy heart. In a few hours, he would be back at the Dursleys, for another two months of doing chores, getting yelled at, and being locked inside that dingy cupboard under the stairs. Ron told Harry to come visit the Burrow (his home) often. Hermione was going on vacation to Europe, but she promised to write. Draco, on the other hand, pulled Harry into an empty compartment at the back and sat down with a sigh.

“Harry, I- Weasley’s right. My Father, his acquaintances, they all work for the Dark Lord. It isn’t safe for us to keep in touch over the vacation. I’m sorry, really.”

Draco looked torn between loyalty to his family and losing a friend. He probably didn’t have many close friends he could trust. Harry bit his lip and pulled the blonde into a warm hug.

“I don’t care, Draco. Slytherins stick together. You’re the one who told me this.” Harry smiled, and the blonde brightened up considerably at that. “One more thing, Malfoy. Our bet; work on that, won’t you?”

Draco grinned smugly. “Of course. I’ll be on the team next year, for sure. Can’t wait to milk some Galleons off you.”

* * *

When Harry dragged his trunk into a trolley, he saw a birdcage with a snowy owl inside. There was a note tied to the bird’s leg.

_‘Don’t forget your promise._

_T. M. Riddle’_

Suddenly, he didn’t feel half as sad anymore. He saw Uncle Vernon from a distance and a thought struck him. He grinned. He was going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer...

~***~

* * *

**So, this is the end of the first part of the story. But don't worry, I'll post the next chapter soon. Please leave a review, if you liked it so far.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that the Wizarding World is in for a revolution~

**Vine Cottage, Little Hangleton**

_Dear Professor Riddle_

_As I promised, here’s my first letter._

_Thank you so much for the owl. She’s beautiful, and I’ve decided to name her ‘Hedwig’. It’s a name I found in ‘The History of Magic’._

_I hope you’re doing well._

_The Dursleys haven’t done much, yet. They’ve taken to ignoring my existence for now, which is a good thing. I’m still doing chores, but it’s not half as bad when I don’t get yelled at. I have a bedroom now, and Hedwig is allowed inside the house. Ron, Draco and Hermione had promised to write, but I guess they’ve forgotten. It must be exciting to spend vacation with family._

_Yesterday, the Dursleys went out leaving me at Mrs Figg’s place. She’s a crazy cat-lady, but she’s nice, sort of, and let me have some chocolate cake. Dudley doesn’t beat me anymore, because he thinks that I’ll turn him into a pig. It feels great to not be scared of him and his gang of little thugs anymore._

_Harry Potter_

Riddle folded the letter with a smile and eyed the frowning Abraxas.

“Tom, please tell me that is not Dumbledore’s Chosen One. It’s dangerous to be around him, so why haven’t you killed him yet?”

“Potter might be better than Longbottom in terms of academic achievement, but both might be equally as threatening in the future.” Riddle gazed out through the window.

“That doesn’t answer why you haven’t killed him yet.”

“Since when do I have to answer to you, Malfoy?” Riddle dropped his voice threateningly. The blonde kept quiet after that. Riddle convinced himself that he was just toying with Potter, that he’d have no qualms about finishing the boy off when the time came...

“How long has it been, since you last killed someone, Tom?” It was Dolohov.

Riddle looked at the black Peverell ring on his middle finger. Since then, he hadn’t killed. After he had become a teacher, he let others do the work for him. He wondered if he still had it in him to end a life again.

Ever since he realised what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised, he did not want to move forward. Letting things stay the way they were felt easier to do. But sometimes, the easy way was not always the way fate proceeds. Riddle’s mind was in confusion, and he needed to make it clear. _He was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord who would reign over the world and enslave Muggles._ Riddle proceeded to think about his next move.

“Abraxas, I want Fudge out.”

“I see. Whom do you want instead?”

Riddle smiled wickedly.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

The Wizarding World was in chaos. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had been assassinated in his office. The killer, an ordinary Ministry employee, was discovered to have been put under the Imperius curse. The Order of Phoenix assembled, because this meant one thing: the stalemate had been broken.

To complicate things further, the temporary office was generously offered to _Lucius Malfoy._

Draco was terrified, Death Eaters were flowing in and out of the Malfoy Manor. His grandfather told him it was dangerous and made him stay inside almost every day. He had Harry’s address with him, and out of desperation, he broke his promise to himself and began writing.

          _Dear Harry_

_How are you? Are those Muggles treating you well?_

_I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Wizarding World is at war again. Father is likely to be made Minister of Magic, and I mightn’t be able to come back to Hogwarts. There are Death Eaters everywhere, and any of us may be captured anytime. The Dark Lord is back, Harry, so please, be careful. Even if I don't like them that much, I'd advise you to tell Weasley and Granger to be careful too, their blood statuses make an enemy out of the Dark Lord. I’m scared, so please reply. Don’t die._

_Yours with concern,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_PS: Don’t reply with your own name. It might get intercepted._

* * *

**Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey**

Harry stared at the hedge.

The hedge stared back at him. To be precise, green eyes the size of tennis balls stared at him from the hedge. Harry blinked. Then the eyes were not there. Had he been imagining things? Harry continued to weed the garden, wash Uncle Vernon’s car, clean the windows, mow the lawn, and returned to lie on the grass, under the shade of the tree. Bitter memories clouded Harry’s mind, this was the tree he had climbed when Ripper, Aunt Marge’s pet bulldog, chased him. He had climbed this tree on several other occasions, mainly when Dudley and his gang of future-thugs played Harry-Hunting.

The telly blared from the living room, where Dudley was watching his favourite show. Harry listened to the show, wondering why Dudley still watched programmes for three year olds. His cousin had grown fat enough to resemble a baby whale, and he was busily munching on Aunt Petunia’s three-layered cheese and bacon sandwiches. Once there was no more food on his plate, Dudley got up and approached Harry.

“I know what day it is today.”

“Well done. So you’ve finally learned the days of the week.”

“Today’s your birthday. How come you haven’t got any cards? Haven’t you got any friends at that freak school?” Dudley sneered.

“Better not let your Mum hear you talking about my school.”

“Why were you staring at the hedge?”

“I’m deciding on the best spell to set it on fire.” On hearing this, Dudley panicked and began blabbering.

Harry lifted an eyebrow dully. “Jiggery-pokery! Hocus-pocus! Squiggly-wiggly!” He laughed as Dudley turned and ran frantically, nearly tripping and falling on his fat bottom. But his fun was short-lived.

“Mum! Mum! He’s doing You-Know-What!”

Petunia hit him on the head with the soapy frying pan and left him to wash the dishes. Uncle Vernon would come home soon. On top of the fridge, Harry glimpsed Aunt Petunia’s violet and cream pudding for the dinner with the Masons. As promised, Harry headed to his bedroom, to make no noise and pretend he was not there.

On top of his bed was a strange creature, with bat-like ears and bulging green eyes, and Harry could swear it was the same green eyes that had been staring at him from the hedge.

“Er- hello.”

“Harry Potter! Dobby has wanted to meet you for such a long time, sir! What an honour it is-”

“Erm, thank you. Who are you?”

“Dobby, sir. Dobby, the house-elf.”

Harry heard Uncle Vernon mumble downstairs. “Er- I don’t want to be rude, or anything, but it isn’t exactly a great time to have a house-elf in my bedroom.”

“Dobby has come to tell you… that horrible things are going to happen in the Wizarding World. Harry Potter must not go back, the war has returned. Very deplorable magic is on the rise, Harry Potter, sir. It will be worse, because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.” The elf stopped on an ominous note.

“Returned? Where was he, then, all this time?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been plotting with dark wizards-” The elf clutched his mouth and headed for the lamp on the desk.

Vernon Dursley coughed uneasily as the Masons looked up for the odd and rather loud wails from the smallest bedroom. “Dudley must have left the television on, the little tyke… Excuse me, I’ll go and switch it off.” He headed to Harry’s bedroom and threw the door open. “What the devil are you doing!?! You’ve just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke! One more sound, and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy…”

Once Uncle Vernon was gone and Dobby was out of the closet, Harry sighed in relief. “See what it’s like in here? See why I’ve got to go to Hogwarts?”

* * *

**The Ministry of Magic, London**

Temporary Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy pondered deeply on the changes that were being brought about. The Dark Lord wanted the Ministry to establish control and sack Dumbledore. Dolohov had insisted that a few Death Eaters be broken out of Azkaban, preferably the ones who could cause comparatively harmless mayhem in the Wizarding World. However, the Senior Death Eater had insisted that the Lestranges and the more insane ones be left behind bars.

Lucius was silently grateful. He _did not_ want to reunite with Rabastian, Rodolphus or his crazy wife that soon.

He summoned his secretary. “Send someone to monitor Hogwarts.” Lucius planned to launch himself into the Dark Lord’s trusted circle, and if his Lord needed Dumbledore sacked, Lucius was going to hand over Hogwarts in a silver platter.

He looked at the parchment in his hand and narrowed his eyes. The Wizengamot was always a hard nut to crack, but somehow, Abraxas Malfoy had done it before. And now the Dark Lord expected him to follow his father’s footsteps. He wondered if he could cajole the Wizengamot into passing the bills the Dark Lord wanted enacted, but judging by the nature of some of the new laws and amendments, Lucius swore that a new uprising was going to occur.

And then there was Dumbledore to worry about. The Order of the Phoenix was back in action, but it was more of an underground rebellion that kept growing with each passing minute.

“Mr Malfoy, a Severus Snape to see you.” The secretary announced. Lucius felt his interest pique. Why was that traitor back? It was suspicious enough that he had very conveniently been hiding under Dumbledore’s wing for the past eleven years, but the coward had the nerve to return when it was certain the Dark Lord had resurfaced!

“Severus, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucius smiled pleasantly, pouring his guest a cup of Earl Grey.

“I am not your target. I would like the Dementors away from my house.” Lucius nearly snorted. This ‘house’ that Snape kept ambling about was nothing but the wreck of a Muggle home in a rather dirty, dingy and unpleasant lane. One would have expected the formidable potions master of Hogwarts to put a bit more thought to his living conditions. He was not a Weasley, for Merlin’s sake!

“And why would I believe you?”

“I am a spy for the Dark Lord. My post at Hogwarts ensures full vantage of Dumbledore’s plans. A little confession and remorse was enough to fool the old coot into letting me in as a member of the Order.” Snape sneered at the memory of himself begging to the Headmaster. “Lucius, this is war. I’m afraid living in all that riches and looking down at the blood-shed from your ivory tower has made you dull. I’ve been in the middle of it all, and believe me when I say you don’t want to be there. As Draco’s godfather, naturally, I will protect him. I merely came to warn you to choose, because you never know where the _snake_ lies.”

“Is that propaganda I hear, Sev?”

“Not at all. I merely warn you not to make an enemy out of me. Goodbye, then.” Snape left, his cloak billowing. At the door, he stopped, sighing ever so silently. “And don’t let Draco get dragged into this bloody mess.”

Snape might have been one of the best occlumens in Britain, but Lucius Malfoy certainly was not. His otherwise grey eyes flashed an eerie red as Tom Marvolo Riddle watched the greasy haired wizard exit the office. A dark, terrible smile danced on his sculpted lips as he plotted out the dungeon bat’s fate.

_“Snivellus, dear Snivellus. What a clever little liar you’ve become!”_

* * *

* * *

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new leader has risen along the ranks of the Light Wizards. Meanwhile, we have our protagonist to the rescue!

**Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Unknown Location**

The Temporary Minister for Magic had just announced that the ban on magical creatures and half-breeds in official posts and public places would be lifted. That meant a sudden flooding of public transportation with vampires, banshees, werewolves, harpies and all sorts of creatures that frightened the wits of whichever unfortunate wizard happened to cross their way.

At this time of trouble, a new leader had emerged:

The author of volumes of bestselling books that dealt with magical creatures and the proud winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile-Award for five times in a row.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Dumbledore wanted Lockhart in Hogwarts for some mysterious reason.

“Albus, I don’t think Tom is going to appreciate-” McGonagall began, but the Headmaster silenced her. Tom Riddle was a powerful, dangerous wizard and it was better to take all the precautions necessary to prevent him from helping Voldemort. Besides, Gilderoy Lockhart had to be put back in place, and the world needed to see what a dark wizard Riddle was. It was like killing two birds with one stone.

“Albus, have you forgotten how that boy can be?” Flitwick asked, remembering Lockhart’s school days.

“It is wartime, Filius. If anything, Lockhart is an internationally recognised champion against dark forces.” Dumbledore said, and the rest did not speak about the matter further. Besides, there were more disturbing things to worry about, like the mass breakout from Azkaban.

The Ministry had assigned Dementors to prowl around in search of the fugitives. Inferi were spotted in lakes near Muggle residences and holiday destinations. The presence of werewolves on the streets didn’t help much either. The Order often clashed with Voldemort’s sympathisers and even more disturbing was the kidnap of Gellert Grindelwald from Nurmengard. There were rumours that Voldemort was going to use Dementors to suck away the former Dark Lord’s soul and turn him into a very powerful, very skilled puppet.

Half the members in the Order didn’t like the fact that Snape, an ex-Death Eater, was allowed into the Order but Tom Riddle was not. Why was it that Albus Dumbledore, who could see the good in everyone and everything, so vehemently refused to see it in his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor? Most of the members of the Order remembered the black-haired professor as a charming and wonderful teacher. True, his eternally youthful body was mysterious but he _couldn’t_ be a dark wizard. He just couldn’t.

* * *

**Vine Cottage, Little Hangleton**

“What a load of rubbish!” Riddle slammed the Daily Prophet on the table furiously after seeing Skeeter’s article. Like adding fuel to the flame, Skeeter seemed to have spun a story about ‘Voldemort’ being the alternate persona of a miserable Muggle-born low-salary Ministry worker with an inferiority complex, who had suffered under the regime the of pure-blood bigots in his school years, who was determined to lead them into a path of self-destruction for his petty revenge. Riddle was spitting fire, and had half a mind to go pay Ms Skeeter a visit, but Dolohov reminded him that, ironically, such an action itself would count as ‘petty revenge’.

Riddle was in a very bad mood all day. He grumbled as he prepared his syllabi for the next term. He hadn’t been receiving letters from Potter either, and he was itching to give out detentions. He would ask Draco the next time he ‘formally’ visited Malfoy Manor. Lucius seemed to be a good enough Minister and he knew he was going to pay the family a visit soon. But he kept worrying because even if Harry had been put in Slytherin, he had the fierceness of a Gryffindor. He was not the sort to break promises.

Riddle found himself apparating to Privet Drive, Surrey, at the middle of night. He scanned the area for Number Four, and proceeded to the top bedroom window. He gazed curiously at the iron bars on a window. He had been quite out of touch with the Muggle World since he left Wool’s Orphanage, but he was certain Muggles didn’t put bars on windows that weren’t prison windows. He raised his wand to blast it open, but remembered that nosy Muggles could be spying out of their windows, and he didn’t want to give Harry any trouble.He wordlessly unlocked the front door and proceeded up the stairs. Having seen Harry curled up on the bed, he was sure that the Dursleys had not sent him back to the cupboard under the stairs. He gaped at the amount of locks, bolts and chains on Harry’s bedroom door. There was a catflap underneath.

Anger bubbled up his veins as a memory came to mind. Muggles were the same everywhere, weren’t they? Whether it was the almost-strangers at an orphanage or the non-magic blood kin, they were all the same; such repulsive, worthless beings that only existed to grovel at the feet of those better than them.

 _“Alohomora.”_ He whispered, clicking each lock open. He walked lightly over the floorboards and sat on Harry’s bed, gazing at the scar on his forehead.

 _«_ _Nagini, what happened to you?_ _»_ Riddle asked in Parseltongue, patting the boy’s forehead. Something was odd, Harry was too thin. Had the Dursleys ignored his warning and started mistreating their nephew again? That would explain the bars and the locks. Hedwig hooted from her cage. She pecked complainingly at the stale canned soup in her bowl, and Riddle noticed several other cans inside the trash.

That was the last straw. Riddle had made up his mind, he vanished Harry’s possessions and let Hedwig out of her cage. He scowled at the terrible state of Harry’s wardrobe and picked up the sleeping boy. A wicked smile came to his face as he twiddled his wand around.

“Harry, wake up.”

The boy blinked groggily and reached for his spectacles. “Professor Riddle? How in the-”

“I’m taking you away from this awful place. Explanations can be made later.”

“Professor, my trunk, wand and school stuff, they’re downstairs.”

Riddle let Harry lead him to the cupboard under the stairs, still heavily locked and bolted. He unlocked the door with a flick of his wand and vanished the trunk and other paraphernalia, and led Harry back to the bedroom. Harry wondered why they hadn’t just walked out of the front door, but Riddle had other plans. He pointed his wand at the bars on the window with his signature smirk.

 _“Reducto.”_ He said loudly enough to wake the Dursleys. And if that wasn’t enough, the window and the surrounding wall burst, leaving a large hole and a wreckage of rubble and melt.

“Take your broom, Harry.” The Nimbus Two-Thousand appeared as Vernon Dursley clambered up the stairs.

“You freak-”

“Let’s go.” Riddle pushed Harry off the hole in the wall, followed by Hedwig. Mr Dursley reached out as he was about to jump, and Riddle tripped him into falling down from the hole. Then the professor neatly climbed into his own broom and took off after Harry.

After days of being stuck inside his room, Harry felt free, with the wind blowing his already-messy hair wild, and he breathed in the cool night air. He saw Professor Riddle behind him on another broomstick.

“Thought you’d appreciate a change of view, Potter. Although I’d much rather apparate back.”

“Where are we going, Professor?”

“My home. Can you fly for a few hours?”

Harry nodded. He felt wide awake even though he had been hungry and sleepy just a while ago. It was not often that one got to ride above London on a broomstick. The lights of the city glittered like jewels from the sky, and as they flew, the landscape became greener and greener, until they were in a little town.

“That’s Little Hangleton.”

They flew lower, away from the town, and landed near a barley field.

Riddle headed to a little hill and began waving his wand. Soon, a cottage appeared at the foot of the hill, surrounded by trees. He beckoned to Harry and opened the door. “Welcome to my home, Harry.”

* * *

Three days into living with Professor Riddle at the picturesque Vine Cottage, Harry met Draco. While the adults discussed business inside, the duo played Quidditch over the fields, making a few Muggles blink in surprise, and afterwards was severely scolded by Professor Riddle.

Riddle took him to visit the Weasleys at the Burrow, and Harry had a very exciting sleepover with Ron. Of course, Draco didn’t come; he and Ron may have gotten to the point of being civil with each other, but since Malfoys oughtn’t to get along with Weasleys and Muggle-borns, Draco stayed away under the pretext of extra Potions classes with his godfather. Mrs Wealsey, a very pleasant woman, offered to take Harry along with her children for shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry’s Hogwarts letter arrived along with Ron’s while they were having breakfast, and Mrs Weasley sighed at the number of books required for Defence Against the Dark Arts. And it was the same set of (rather pricey) Lockhart books for everyone, from Ginny Weasley to Percy Weasley.

“Ooh, it’s Lockhart.” Said Fred Weasley.

“Mum fancies him~ But I didn’t know Professor Riddle was a fan too.” Added George Weasley. Riddle furrowed his brows and seized the parchment from Harry. The air suddenly turned electric, Riddle’s face seemed impassive, but no one could deny the dark, terrifying aura around the Defence professor. He finished his cup of tea and stood up.

“Thank you for the tea, Molly. I’m afraid I have to leave now, I need to have a word with Albus.”

They watched the man apparate away, and let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Mrs Weasley readied the children around the fireplace, preparing to floo to Diagon Alley. They wondered if there would be enough money to afford Lockhart’s books for all the Weasley children.

Gilderoy Lockhart kept signing copies of his autobiography in naïve vanity, and blissfully unaware of the dark clouds that blanketed Hogwarts at the moment.

It seemed like there was going to be a storm at the school that day.

The number of toads croaking in the swamps near Ottery St Catchpole instilled an odd sense of foreboding in the Muggles nearby, but the intended recipients of this warning were away frolicking amongst the colourful delights of Diagon Alley.

* * *

* * *

 


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A toad and a fraud? Tch! How troublesome."

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Assist?

Riddle couldn’t believe his ears. Assist? That pompous, pretentious little narcissist... Assist him?

“What are you playing at, Dumbledore? You know I am fully capable of teaching this subject, haven’t I done so, for the past few decades?”

Dumbledore smiled and gestured for him to sit. “Tom, the war has begun. You must understand this is one of the most subjects that prepare a young wizard for survival and battle. We need all the help we can get. Gilderoy is a recognised member of the Dark Force Defence League. He will set a good example.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled pleasantly, but there was a dangerous undertone to it.

Seriously?

The old coot was playing that card?

“Dumbledore, do you know how he is? I’ve taught him, I know he’s up to no good. He was far too invested in fraud and trickery to end up otherwise.” Riddle crossed his arms, but realised that as a mere professor, he had no power over the Headmaster.

He returned to his cottage, gritting his teeth at the fact that a brat like Lockhart was going to steal away half of his prestige. Antonin Dolohov was waiting in his study.

“I hope you have very good news, Antosha.” The Death Eater nodded with a devious smirk.

“Definitely good news. We have the Death Eaters out,” Riddle nodded in satisfaction, “Along with Gellert Grindelwald.”

“What!?!” Riddle felt his blood run cold. He had dismissed that piece of news as saucy gossip from people who wished to defame him.

“Yes! We believe you would have liked to question Grindelwald about Dumbledore and his weaknesses, given his experiences in the dark side, before killing him. Although, My Lord, the rumours aren’t half bad in their idea of using him as an inferius.” Dolohov grinned broadly. Riddle was stunned for a moment.

“You bloody idiot...” He said in quiet disbelief. “I don’t want Grindelwald running around! I’m the Dark Lord, I don’t want a competitor! Go find something more useful to report.” Riddle sank onto the armchair, sighing. Dolohov got up and pulled his cloak on. He pointed at the sack that lay limp in a corner of the room.

“Well, in case you change your mind, I’ll just leave him here.”

Riddle’s mouth fell open. “You brought him _here?”_

“Bye, Tom.” Dolohov apparated away before he could get hit with the rain of hexes. Tom Riddle peered into the sack to see an emaciated, ragged old man who had probably fainted after enduring far too many Cruciatus curses. He wondered what he was supposed to do with him.

Raise him? No, bad idea, thought Riddle.

Giftwrap him and send him to Dumbledore?

Kill him?

Riddle thought that the latter was a good idea, and he raised his wand, pointing at the old man. “Av- a- Avado- no, Avada Ked- Urgh!” He realised he couldn’t do it. He hadn’t killed in so long that he had forgotten how to do it. He forgot how to get his hands to stop trembling, to keep his pounding heart calm, to speak the accursed incantation without breaking down in the middle...

Out of sheer frustration and despair, he sat on his chair and began massaging his throbbing temples.

 _«_ _This is why you don’t bring an ex-Dark Lord to another Dark Lord’s house!_ _»_ Riddle hissed in Parseltongue.

* * *

**Vine Cottage, Little Hangleton**

“Professor Riddle, I’m home!”

Harry’s voice broke Riddle out of his trance. He looked at the dark wizard inside the sack and panicked. In the end, he settled for conjuring a box and stuffing the man inside. _“Petrificus Totalus.”_ Now that the incriminating evidence was safely locked away, he opened the door and let Harry and Draco inside. The two headed to the table to do some vacation homework. Riddle levitated the box into his study and flooed his two trusted friends.

Yes, he had come to accept that they were his valued friends.

After that mass breakout from Azkaban during the ‘Reign of Terror’, as many liked to call it, the Ministry was lobbying for a permanent Minister for Magic, and Lucius Malfoy simply wouldn’t do. The public were distressed, and the Ministry needed to prove that they were making sure the Wizarding World was safe, and ex-Dark Lord Grindelwald on the run wasn’t going to affect them. The new Minister was a relatively unknown official who went by the name of Pius Thicknesse. Riddle wanted this man under the Imperius Curse, but he was always surrounded by Aurors, especially because his predecessor had been assassinated.

Abraxas cast a silencing spell around the room as Riddle and Dolohov began questioning the weakened wizard. After a few rounds, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had learnt _very useful_ things about Albus Dumbledore. Once they were done, Dolohov summoned a Dementor to suck the soul away, but a loud thud and a scream distracted them. Abraxas rushed out because it was his grandson that was screaming. However, Draco was screaming because Harry Potter had fainted all of a sudden.

“Dementors,” Riddle folded his sleeves up as he stirred the calming draught, “Bring out the worst memories in people. They feed on despair, horror, pain, just about anything unpleasant for their victim. Of course, if you idiots had paid attention to Professor Merrythought in your sixth year, I wouldn’t have to be telling you all this.” Riddle glared at Dolohov and Abraxas. “For Potter, who probably had to witness his parents get murdered in cold blood- the Dementor might have pulled out some very unpleasant memories indeed. So,” He handed the goblets of calming draughts to Draco and Abraxas, “Mind you, no Dementors in my house. Is that clear?”

He also made sure Abraxas cast a Memory Charm on Draco and made him forget everything that had happened in the Vine Cottage, before the two blondes returned to their manor.

“So, My Lord, why is the Potter boy here? This is dangerous. He could kill you.” Dolohov said pensively, watching the Chosen One sleep. Riddle had forced a dreamless sleeping draught down the boy’s throat, so that there wouldn’t be any screaming and waking up.

“You misunderstand, Antosha, as I used to. But you realise that he is still a naïve child? He, at present, does not hold the power to destroy Lord Voldemort. But he will, when he grows up. So it’s part of my grand plan, to raise him to admire and adore me.” Riddle said nonchalantly as he examined Grindelwald’s vitals.

“He will be of no use as an inferius or a soulless puppet. What I need is his knowledge. Keep him in Malfoy’s dungeons. Make sure he doesn’t kill himself.” Riddle dismissed Dolohov with a wave.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Riddle apparated Harry to Hogwarts before returning to his chambers. He was thoroughly appalled by the state of the classroom, since Lockhart had filled all the free walls with pictures of himself. He changed into his black robes and Slytherin scarf, spending a bit more time on his appearance because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to steal some of the glory from Lockhart.

Riddle reached the High Table early, taking a seat between Professors Vector and Sinistra. He had a good view of Snape, Lockhart and the Slytherin table. However, the unexpected part was the presence of a toad-faced, short woman in a very pink cardigan and skirt.

“That’s Hogwarts’ new inspector from the Ministry.” Sinistra whispered in his ear.

Inspector? He had never heard about such a thing in all the fifty years he had been here.

After the sorting, Dumbledore stood up to make the start-of-term announcements.

“Welcome back, to another year at Hogwarts. Before we dig in, I would like to introduce the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.” The blonde stood up, slightly disappointed that Dumbledore hadn’t read out the written introduction he had handed the Headmaster a few minutes prior. A number of girls squealed, and Lockhart threw a rose at them, bowing grandiloquently.

“Yes, thank you, Professor Lockhart. He and Professor Riddle will be sharing classes for the year. Now, I would like to introduce Professor Dolores Umbridge, the Representative Inspector from the Ministry of Magic.  She will be-”

 _“Ahem, ahem._ Thank you, Professor Dumbledore.” The pink, toad-faced woman had interrupted the Headmaster with a sickly sweet smile. “Since there has been rather... troubling events in the last three months, the Ministry of Magic has decided to analyse the quality of education provided at Hogwarts, and should it seem lacking in any aspect, the Ministry will be implementing a new ‘approved curriculum’ for the young, bright minds here. It would be worrisome if the next generation of wizards were incapable of proper... magic.”

Riddle felt a surge of anger. The toad-woman kept going on about Ministry-this and Ministry-that, and it took every bit of willpower he had to not hex her into oblivion. Since when had the Wizarding Decree allowed the Ministry of Magic to run Hogwarts? As far as he remembered, the school had been a semi-autonomous body, allowing only the board of governors to interfere in its administration.

* * *

When Harry headed to Transfiguration (with Hufflepuffs, where Harry had to give more attention to Draco and stop him from bullying them) the room had a rather unpleasant and unwelcome visitor. Professor McGonagall instructed them to open their textbooks to the final part of non-magic object transfigurations, divided the class into pairs, and gave out instructions to analyse their progress during the summer.

“... by transfiguring this tea pot into a music-box. However, if the incantation is wrong, the effects might be quite disastrous-”

_“Ahem, ahem.”_

“... as demonstrated by the case of Dislug the Slimy, who turned himself into a mollusc.” She was rudely interrupted by yet another high-pitched false cough.

 _“Ahem, ahem._ Minerva, it has occurred to me that this class has very less to do with the textbook, and more to do with silly wand-waving and chanting. You don’t believe it’s necessary to reinforce the theory before you let students practise something as dangerous as Transfigurations?”

“Kindly do not interrupt me when I’m teaching, Dolores. You won’t have much to observe if you do.” Professor McGonagall pointedly ignored Umbridge and her little clipboard throughout the lesson after that. Draco told Harry that Umbridge had been sent by the new Minister for Magic, Thicknesse, to assess Hogwarts and its staff.

Potions was slightly more bearable for Harry, because Umbridge kept distracting Snape with pointless and almost insolent questions and suggestions. The Gryffindors (and Harry) watched with interest as a vein throbbed on the greasy-haired Potions-Master’s impassive face. He looked as if he would hex Umbridge any moment, and his job was saved by Neville (accidentally) exploding his cauldron and covering the surroundings with foul putrescence.

“Does nothing enter that thick skull of yours, Longbottom? What did I explicitly tell you _not_ to add? Anyone who got splashed, line up at my desk for the antidote. Weasley, Finnigan, take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing.”

Draco pinched Harry under the desk and pointed at Umbridge, who had been sitting near Neville’s cauldron, and was now covered with olive-green boils that looked about to burst. The blonde sniggered appreciatively as his godfather handed a vial of oily red liquid to the woman, who struggled to walk back to her chair. Two days of Umbridge had every single student inclined to be as unhelpful to her as possible.

* * *

* * *

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go get a fireworks patent and then secretly market it to aid our enemies' enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta checker, so please comment on any mistakes I might have made.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

It was the first class he was to share with Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.  Added to the fact that he was teaching fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins (including, perhaps, the unruliest bunch of students since the Marauders), it sufficed to say, Professor Tom M. Riddle wasn’t looking forward to it in the least.

“Excellent, excellent! I, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Charming Smile Award, will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and-” Riddle could hear the blonde ex-Ravenclaw’s loud voice from outside the classroom. He entered discreetly, swearing to himself that he was going to wait quietly for Lockhart to make a fool out of himself.

“We’ll start our classes with a little pop-quiz, just to know how you’ve read from my books.” Lockhart began handing out question papers, and the boys groaned. Girls seemed to be blushing and swooning every now and then. Riddle snatched a question paper from the nearest table. His brows nearly met his hairline in his disbelief.

Just how much more narcissistic could Lockhart be?

“Gilderoy, I fail to see what _‘What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite colour?’_ and _‘When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday?’_ has to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts. Could you perhaps, _enlighten me?”_ Riddle asked coolly, much to the delight of the Slytherin boys.

“Professor Riddle, I didn’t see you there! I was just testing them, to see how much they know about me and my voyages. Would you like to write the test as well?” Lockhart beamed at the sight of the parchment in Riddle’s hand.

“No, not really. I’d rather you teach the class something useful.”

“Right you are, Professor Riddle! Now, if you’d assist me, we could demonstrate my grand triumph over the Romanian vampires. You can be Bertcz the Bloody, and I will tackle you like this-” Lockhart jumped at the other man, who promptly stepped back and amusedly watched Lockhart fall flat on his face. “Ah! Very wily, very wily indeed! But fear not, I shall get rid of this bestial vampire!” Lockhart began waving his wand and ducking to avoid ‘Bertcz the Bloody’ and his imaginary fangs. While the blonde hopped about in his buffoonery, Riddle extended his feet discreetly and tripped him. He had to admire Lockhart’s perseverance; the tale did not end even after Lockhart had fallen down thrice.

“-and I pinned him down thus, ah! No, you shall not leech off me, vampire! I screamed thus and struck with my sword whence Svir the Sanguineous flew out with his brides-” Here Lockhart stopped and looked around to recruit students for his tale. He flashed his pearly whites upon the sight of the two Weasleys. “Come along, don’t be shy! You can be Svir and Bertcz; Professor Riddle must be exhausted after getting bludgeoned...”

“Weasley, do me a favour and tell Peeves to drop a few dungbombs in his office, won’t you?” Riddle asked a dishevelled George after double Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart.

George beamed.

* * *

Riddle was back in the Headmaster’s office. “You can’t do this.”

“Good afternoon, my dear boy.”

“You can’t make me share classes with that buffoon.”

“Tom, you and Gilderoy could both learn from each other.”

“The only thing anyone’s ever learnt from _his_ classes is to _NEVER set free a cage of Cornish Pixies!”_

“Ah, did he do that? That boy always had a flair for the dramatic. Would you like a lemon drop?”

Riddle was breathing fire. “It was bedlam, Dumbledore! He doesn’t know a single summoning spell, let alone a mass immobilising spell. He lost his wand and fled. You can’t let a colossal idiot like Lockhart near children!”

“I’m sure he has his strong points.” Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes twinkled, and Riddle pursed his lips.

“So what you mean to say is that I won’t get even a single class to myself this year, and that I’d have to keep sharing with that imbecile. Very well, Dumbledore. You needn’t expect complete submission and obedience from me anymore, because I _will be_ retaliating.” Riddle spun gracefully and left.

* * *

**The Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade Village**

“What are you doing, Tom?” Abraxas Malfoy scrunched his nose at the foul-smelling concoction Riddle was busying himself with. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and they sat uncomfortably inside the Shrieking Shack. Riddle’s cauldron fizzed and bubbled merrily on the fire.

“There’s a nuisance I want taken care of. Thrice clockwise, add a pinch of crystallised armadillo bile, stir twice counter-clockwise, thrice clockwise, repeat...” The concoction turned a bright yellow and began fuming.

“Yes, Lockhart, was it? Draco’s last letter was very detailed and colourful.” Abraxas snorted. “But what about your grand plans for absolute world domination? Surely you wouldn’t allow an ignorant youth lead you astray from your ambitions?”

“Any success with Thicknesse?”

“No, not yet. And the Wizengamot is frightened out of their wits, and they’re siding with Thicknesse in keeping the public calm and unaware. But I don’t appreciate you trying to make a puppet out of my son, Tom. After all, he is my only child.”

The cauldron fumed more and more, blanketing the room in a cloud of offensive-smelling vapours. Abraxas cast a Bubble-Head charm to keep himself from choking. Riddle stretched lazily, his concoction was complete. He began carefully pouring the liquid into little leaf-packets, before folding them neatly and placing them in a tin.

“Try lighting one.” Riddle grinned as he handed a packet to the blonde aristocrat. The expression looked extremely strange on someone as sombre and stern as Professor Tom M. Riddle, but it somehow suited his eternally handsome and boyish face. “But remember to throw it a good distance away.” This last warning fell on deaf ears as the lit packet exploded violently in the palm of the former Malfoy patriarch.

That day, the residents and visitors of Hogsmeade village heard yelps, screams, and highly-cultured cursing from the legendary Shrieking Shack, after nearly two decades of inactivity.

Riddle apparated away to Diagon Alley, to get in touch with a certain Dr Filibusters & Co. and to patent his new creation after its remarkably successful trial run.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

“Hello dearest little brother. We-”

“Heard from a pretty brunette that you were going to tell Mumsie-”

“That we’ve ordered a few crates of Dr Filibuster’s Brand New-”

“Cracker Delight from Zonko’s, hoping we’d get a few Howlers-”

“And a nice detention with McGonagall, yes?”

Harry and Ron were returning from Snape’s detention when they were cornered by the gangly twins, who had identical wicked grins plastered to their faces.

“Well, it isn’t going to work. You know, Fred, one fine day, the Gryffindor House suddenly might know about that Muggle girl-”

“Miss What’s-her-name from Devon, that Ickle-Ronniekins seems to have a thing for? Or the Slytherins might magically find a tip on spiders, hmm?”

“Mm, saucy~”

Ron’s ears turned a violent shade of pink. “You wouldn’t!” He muttered under his breath, but he knew all too well how _serious_ the twins could get. He mutely turned submissive and let the twins watch as he shredded the incriminating letter to pieces. Harry gave Ron a sympathetic pat before heading to the Slytherin Common Room. He had been avoiding Draco ever since the blonde called Hermione an insufferable know-it-all, and cruelly imitated her jumping up and down to answer questions.

He settled on an armchair near the fire and took out his Charms homework. Halfway through, he felt a burning glare and turned to see Draco Malfoy behind him. The blonde looked away furiously and began scribbling on his Potions assignment. There was talk among the Slytherin Third-years that the Malfoy heir was ‘Pottersick’.

“You know, Malfoy, if you stopped being such a prat to my friends, we wouldn’t be like this right now.” Harry said loudly.

“I hate them, Potter. If you’re fine being around such _lowlifes,_ it’s fine by me, because who needs you?”

“Say that again?” Harry stood up, livid.

_“Rictusempra!”_

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

Harry howled with laughter as the tickling charm hit him, and Malfoy fell down and rolled around. He hit a pair of extremely polished black brogues and looked up to see a very annoyed Head of House. “Fighting in the Common Room? Detention.” Said Riddle silkily as he cast a wordless ‘ _Finite Incantatem’_ and returned to his office in the dungeons. He scowled at the coloured papers on his desk and continued to fold them neatly, ignoring his aching knuckles and sore finger-pads.

He was definitely going to research on Origami spells the next morning.

Dumbledore had outlawed Dr Filibuster’s Brand New Cracker Delight after Filch discovered crate-loads of said goods being secretly shipped into the castle. And Riddle had unpleasantly discovered that it was not only Professor Lockhart, who was in severe need of his ‘special treats’. He was going to be analysed by the pink toad the next day, and from everything he had heard from his colleagues, especially Minerva McGonagall, he was sure it wasn’t going to be delightful.

He had Abraxas look into Umbridge, and see where she stood. Apparently, the woman adored Fudge. Riddle was baffled, why that incompetent and spineless buffoon in particular? Why not Thicknesse? Why not Crouch Sr.? He turned his attention to the cadaver floating in his cauldron. It had turned a nasty shade of purple, perfect for the next step of his operations. No, Riddle liked to think himself above the base pleasures of Necromancy, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The theatre was set; it was only a matter of time before his plans were ready to be executed.

 _Dumbledore couldn’t have noticed,_ he told himself. There was no way that old man who had eyes everywhere could possibly notice such petty (substantial) amounts of saltpetre and sulphur being smuggled by Dolohov (of all people!) into the castle. He had pasted a cautioning sign outside his office, while he cast a Bubble-Head charm and proceeded to mix the potassium nitrate with sulphur and carbon. He needed fire and heat, unlike the sort of stuff Dr Filibuster had in stock.

Thank Merlin for the ingenuity of the Chinese!

* * *

* * *

 


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddle likes to learn from his students. Mostly the Marauders and the Weasley Twins.  
> Contains Harry-Draco fluff.  
> To SummerzHill and harriet38, because their comments inspired me to update early!

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Lockhart flashed his signature blinding smile at Umbridge. _“Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”_ He waved his wand at the pixie in the cage. Riddle would have rolled his eyes had it not been an uncultured and plebeian action. The blasted idiot was attempting to charm the pixie into singing, in a half-arsed attempt to impress the Senior Undersecretary and get into favour with the Ministry.

The electric blue creature began croaking, and it almost sounded like a toad attempting to sing. A few strangling sounds ensued from the Gryffindor side, where Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Lee Jordan were coughing and choking under their desks. Riddle found their expertise in non-verbal magic quite impressive. Perhaps, not all of Gryffindor house were bumbling, thick-skulled idiots.

Umbridge flushed slightly when the pixie started croaking a lovesong. She coyly batted an eyelid at a horrified Lockhart, who looked like he had just dug his own grave. Riddle snorted and continued to write incantations for jinxes on the board, his stern gaze and pursed lips silently daring the class to create trouble.

“Thank you, Gilderoy. Professor Riddle, it’s your turn.” Umbridge’s saccharine smile was fixed on him. “I have a few questions about your teaching methods, if you don’t mind...”

“Rowle, Mulciber, I have told you repeatedly that I do not like being disturbed when I’m teaching. You can hold your tongue, or leave.” Riddle snapped at the two Slytherins who had been chatting in hushed tones. It served as a warning to everyone in the class, and even Umbridge and Lockhart were stumped, involuntarily reminded of Riddle’s temper from their school years. Riddle smirked in the knowledge that he had hit three birds with one stone.

He partnered up the class and had them practise jinxes and Shield Charms. “It’s ‘pro-te-go’. Get the pronunciation right, Johnson!” Riddle snapped at the girl, who had sprouted antlers and gotten hit with a particularly nasty Bat-Bogey Hex.

The lesson ended once more than three-quarters of the class had to be sent to the Hospital Wing to get their antlers removed. Riddle wondered if the Shield Charm was that challenging. Year after year, he had seen his fourth-years struggle with it. He had mastered it in his first-year, but well, not everyone could be expected to be as prodigious as him. Riddle heaved a sigh and told those who had successfully cast the charm to finish their essays and leave it at his desk.

“Now, Professor Riddle?” Umbridge picked up her clipboard and approached him, still wary. After all, he had given her a fair share of detentions when she had been a student. _Knock yourself out,_ thought Riddle savagely, as he smiled politely and gestured the pink-toad to sit.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

The Pureblood supremacists were lobbying for a purge in the Wizarding World, under the banner of Lord Voldemort. Death Eaters ran amok in Muggle areas, and their activities were nothing short of ruthless. Several towns were burnt down, Muggles were massacred in a London bus, an office building exploded. The Muggles called it ‘Terrorism’, but the Wizarding World knew better. Half of it was credited to the Lestranges.

Tensions reached a maximum when the Pureblood supremacists in the Wizengamot and outside issued a direct challenge to the rest of the council, marking the start of a civil war in Wizarding Britain. The International Confederation of Warlocks interfered, seeking Dumbledore’s help. Abraxas Malfoy persuaded Lucius to start a petition in the Hogwarts Board of Governors to have Dumbledore removed.

“The leader of a faction in the civil war cannot be allowed to run a school, obviously. Think of the danger it would put the children in!” Abraxas passionately exclaimed, and sent his Patronus to the Board of Governors.

“Right, _the children._ Good move, Malfoy.” Dolohov sneered.

“I have an idea: let’s bring a cursed artefact into the school. We can put all the blame on Dumbledore, once enough devilries occur.” Riddle folded his arms, listing off the artefacts they could disguise and sneak inside the wards of the castle.

“Leave it to Lucius. The boy needs experience in carrying out errands, if he is to serve you in the future.” Dolohov said. “What about Fudge? You ask me at two in the morning, to rob a graveyard and bring you that pompous clown’s corpse? Perhaps, despite your looks, you must really be going senile.”

Riddle glared. “My plans for Fudge are being carried out perfectly well. Dobby!” A house-elf apparated with a loud crack. He was dressed in a filthy pillowcase, with bony, bandaged hands. “Bring me a vial of the potion brewing inside my cauldron, from Hogwarts, please.”

“Yes, Master Riddle.” The elf disapparated.

“Do something about those Lestranges, please. It’s rather disgusting, the way they behave, like a bunch of brainless baboons, nothing in their mind but slaughter, torture and arson. I can’t have people associating Lord Voldemort with insanity. These Purebloods-”

“Believe me, Tom, they already have. Especially after rumour spread that you sent people to kill a toddler.” Abraxas laughed, but Dolohov sent a warning glare at the blonde, reminding him who exactly had been at fault.

Crack!

Dobby reappeared with the potion, bowed and disapparated again. Riddle leaned back in soigné comfort, letting his two faithful followers take a whiff of the viscous brown liquid in the vial. It looked and smelled like syrup.

“Treacle and Fudge, get it? No? Alright.” Riddle sighed. It had been a sad attempt at adding humour into a necromantic potion. “That sticky syrup is a variation of the Polyjuice Potion. It turns any inanimate object into a dead clone of whoever you added to the potion. It’s different in the aspect that the person’s flesh has to be added, and left to decay.”

“That’s disgusting.” Abraxas wrinkled his nose. Dolohov choked and spat the few drops he had tasted.

“Luckily, for Antosha, the potion doesn’t work on humans. I was planning to make a Fudge-bomb and have it illegally distributed in Hogwarts. I need to get rid of Umbridge.” Riddle corked the vial and put it safely in his pocket.

“Why Umbridge?” It was not as if that woman, unpleasant as she was, had done anything to Riddle.

“It brings me great pain to set eyes on creatures as foul and loathsome as Dolores Jane Umbridge.” Riddle replied haughtily, turning to leave.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

The petition to get Albus Dumbledore to resign was signed by all members of the Board, especially after Abraxas Malfoy’s rather convincing arguments. Riddle breathed in relief, finally, after fifty years, he would be rid of Dumbledore. Even if it would only be for a short time.

There was a vote going on in the Board, over Riddle or McGonagall as the next Head of Institution. He was positive he would gather the majority. After all, he was an adored professor. And once he was Headmaster, he could get rid of Gilderoy Lockhart. Dolohov had placed several new spies in the Ministry, and any one of them could place an Imperius Curse on Pius Thicknesse...

Christmas was approaching, and almost the entire school was excited. As a result, it was very difficult to teach classes, when half of them were buzzing with ideas and plans. Riddle loathed vacations. Whoever had been so colossally dunderheaded as to implement _vacations_ in an educational institution? Why couldn’t these pesky, ignorant brats just be grateful for the (usually) high-quality education they were receiving, and bother to _learn something?_

That’s it, he thought. When he became Headmaster, he was going to abolish all holidays and vacations, and make sure time was spent usefully. Who could have predicted, when the sun rose, drawing Christmas and all its merriment closer, the staff and students of Hogwarts...

... would all stand at the Entrance Hall and stare up at the enormous notice of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, that declared Dolores Jane Umbridge as the High-Inquisitor and new Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Riddle felt his blood boil.

He had never hated a person the way he now hated Dolores Umbridge.

* * *

Harry and Draco were in detention, and Riddle had tasked them with helping out Argus Filch clean the broom cupboards. Draco looked horrified at the sight of dust on his hands, and Harry snorted.

“What, Daddy’s not here to hear about this?”

“No, Father won’t do anything to Professor Riddle. He respects him too much.” Draco frowned. “A Malfoy, with dirt on their skin! Such a disgrace, and it’s all _your_ fault, Potty!”

“Well, I wouldn’t have hexed you if you were a bit more decent to my friends, Malfoy! What have you got against them, really?”

“What wouldn’t you have against them? Saint Potter, saviour of Mudbloods, friend of blood-traitors, Dumbledore’s mascot-”

“Are you jealous, or something?” Harry asked, shoving a stack of brooms into the closet and bolting it shut. Draco gave him a look of disbelief.

“Are you insane? I’m a Malfoy! I’ve got wealth, blood-status, I’ve got a Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One, and I’ve got _parents.”_ He smirked proudly, watching Harry’s face contort. His face fell, however, when he realised what a cheap blow it was. Harry turned away quietly, and began stacking the cleaning products in the shelves. “Pot- Harry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Silence. “Harry, _please!”_

“Why should I? You’ve been nothing but awful to me, Ron and Hermione. So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just punch you in the face, _Malfoy.”_ He seethed.

“Because we’re in detention, and if you punch me, I’ll punch you back, and Riddle will put you in another detention with me? Actually, that’s a brilliant idea-” Draco began, but Harry had already finished the cupboard and headed to the next. “How are you so bloody good at cleaning cupboards, Potter?”

“Because, like you said, I haven’t got parents.” There was bitter venom in his words.

“ _Harry, I am sorry!_ You’re right, I _am_ jealous. I’m jealous of Weasel and Granger, because whenever you’re around them, you tend to forget about me.” Draco glared at the raven-haired boy. Harry stared back, completely taken aback. “It’s alright, Potter. I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose. So, are we back to being friends, or what?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry too. Is our bet still on?”

“Definitely. But I’m not taking back what I said about having a better broom, Potty.”

* * *

The Weasley twins started a bootleg retail of Dr Filibuster’s Fantastic Fire-Salamanders and Brand New Cracker Delight Redesigned, along with a multitude of their own creations and productions. Besides, the extra tuition in Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Riddle turned out to be more boon than bane, especially because the man offered to lend his laboratory to facilitate their ‘learning’ in certain areas.

Innocuous grey paper-reptiles began finding their way into Umbridge’s office and the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, only to explode into violently bright displays of fire and colour. Nifflers went ‘missing’ from the Care of Magical Creatures department, and turned up a few days later, inside Lockhart’s office. The blonde professor was frightened out of his wits, and needed a few Hufflepuffs who were nearby, to save his shiny trophies and medals.

A mysterious (and impeccably written) note fell into the hands of the Slytherin and Gryffindor fourth-years, with no sender’s name.

 _‘Blast-Ended-Skrewts would be more useful,’_ it said. The juveniles smiled to themselves.

It was not days later that Umbridge received an exploding letter in her office, which splattered syrup everywhere, and turned all the pictures of her precious kittens into ugly Fudge-shaped Inferi made out of treacle. They followed her everywhere, and neither spell nor curse could rid her of this new train. Most of the castle looked up to Professor Tom Riddle to unenchant the Treacle-Fudges, but the man confessed that he had ‘never quite seen magic like this’, and that ‘it would take time, to research and formulate a counter-curse’.

Not that anyone minded. Muggleborn-loving doddering coot as he was, even the Slytherins had to admit that Dumbledore was better than Umbridge. A week later, in Professor Riddle’s laboratory, the world’s first Portable Swamp™ came into being under the deft transfiguration and spellwork of two unusually genius red-heads.

As Shakespeare, a Muggle dramatist, once wrote:

_‘Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt!’_

* * *

* * *

 


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fishy things, fishy things <º))))><

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Quidditch season began, with Harry handing over five galleons to Draco Malfoy, who had made it to the team, and become Slytherin’s Chaser and reserve Seeker. First match of the season was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Tensions were at a high, and Prefects had foiled several attempts to hex Dean Thomas, the Gryffindor Seeker, and Katie Bell, the youngest Chaser on the lions’ team.

The Weasleys were in detention with Umbridge, and Gryffindor had to bring in substitutes; putting Slytherin at an advantage.

“Now, I want a nice, clean game!” Thundered Madam Hooch, her hawkish eyes narrowed at Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint. She blew the whistle, and the two teams took off. Spinnet and Johnson, the Gryffindor Chasers, kept relaying the Quaffle through the swarm of green, scoring flawlessly past the Slytherin Keeper. Lee Jordan was commenting, only too elated to see that Gryffindors were leading. Warren Montague tried to foul, resulting in a penalty to Gryffindor, and the Slytherin team glanced at their Head-of-House, who just smiled pleasantly.

Then onwards, the green-robed players were as meek and well-mannered as hamsters.

“Bell with the Quaffle, no, dislodged by a well-aimed Bludger, and the Quaffle is snatched by Flint, passing to Malfoy, back to Flint, another Bludger from... what’s this, Potter’s got himself a rogue Bludger!” Lee Jordan exclaimed. Harry was flying around in wild loops and whirls, attempting to shake the violent black ball off his tail.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” Malfoy asked, finding the scene very amusing.

“Sod off, Malfoy, just get this thing off me!” Harry shot back, darting through the stands and over the hoops. “Montague!”

“Right at it, Potter.” The boy hit the Bludger at Dean Thomas, but it swerved and returned to chasing Harry.

Riddle narrowed his eyes as his discreet attempt at taking control of the Rogue Bludger failed. Extremely odd. It would have to be someone exceptionally powerful at charms to deflect his attacks. His gaze wandered over the teachers’ stand, lingering over Umbridge for a fraction too long.

Right, exceptionally powerful implied a minimum level of brainpower. The pink-toad did not meet the requirements. Riddle looked at Flitwick (No motive), McGonagall (Too moral), Snape (Too distracted)...

Distracted?

He looked again, and Snape seemed to be concentrating with full eye contact with Harry, and muttering darkly under his breath. Riddle couldn’t believe his eyes. Little Snivellus was petty enough to take his hatred out on the boy, for the deeds of the father? So much for Slytherin pride.

The stands exploded with cheers as Jordan announced: “Harry Potter catches the snitch, Slytherin wins with two-hundred-and-thirty points against Gryffindor’s ninety points.”

Riddle took his eyes off Snape and at Harry, who was on the pitch, clutching a broken hand. The Bludger seemed set on taking the boy’s life, and the professor felt a flash of anger within him. He would not stand for such pettiness, especially coming from the boy who used to be one of his favourite students.

 _“Finite Incantatem.”_ Riddle stood up and cast loudly, overpowering the magic controlling the Bludger, and making the ball fall harmlessly onto the grass. Lockhart was running to ‘help’, and Riddle turned away. Whatever that fool did was of no concern to him.

* * *

To say Tom M. Riddle was angry was an understatement. He was a professor, not Umbridge’s servile dog. The woman would have to understand that.

 _«_ _Come,_ _»_ He hissed. _«_ _Open this vault, and come to me._ _»_

He closed his eyes and let his magic see for him. The fifty-feet long snake blinked repeatedly, remembering him from years ago. _«_ _What will you have me do, Young Heir? Murder the Mudbloods?_ _»_

Riddle winced. It sounded odd to hear Pureblood propaganda from a snake that had to be from Salazar Slytherin’s time. Riddle had taught the snake that word, when he commanded it to complete Slytherin’s legacy. _«_ _No, just two nuisances that defile Hogwarts and her glory._ _»_

_«_ _Yes, as you wish, Young Heir._ _»_

The snake slithered away quietly. Something tightened in his stomach; like a warning.

_«_ _Rip... tear... kill..._ _»_

“Huh, did you hear that?” Harry asked. They were returning from Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday party, after the Gryffindor ghost had done them a favour during detention with Filch and told Peeves to create a ruckus. Draco and Ron stared at Harry.

“Perhaps you’ve really gone potty.” The blonde smirked, but Harry pulled him along, chasing the mystical disembodied whispers. The two stopped in horror at the sight of Mrs Norris hanging from the wall. Ron and Hermione followed, and they too stared, afraid. “‘Enemies of the Heir, Beware.’ This is bad, let’s get out of here, Potter!” Draco’s voice was oddly trembling.

But it was too late. The entire school had gathered. Riddle looked up at the warning on the wall in bewilderment. He hadn’t put up such a warning, and it was only moments before, that he opened the chamber. It could only mean one thing; there was a spy. His thoughts went to Severus Snape, but he dismissed the idea. Snape wouldn’t understand Parseltongue, neither would he know Riddle was up to something. But the cat seemed to be petrified. It had to be the basilisk. Perhaps...?

He had to look into the matter thoroughly, but for now, he had to get the Trouble Trio plus Draco (it seemed much apt than ‘Idiot Trio’) out of trouble, yet again. He would give Potter and Malfoy a piece of his mind for wandering about while skipping dinner, and let McGonagall handle Weasley and Granger.

* * *

Someone was killing the roosters and drawing more blood-red graffiti on the walls. More children, (Muggleborns, to be specific) were getting petrified, and Umbridge was strutting proudly around Hogwarts, unscathed and demanding that the vandals be given to her for detention. It was obvious Riddle was no longer in control of his basilisk. He doubted that, with Dumbledore gone, the students leaving for Christmas would return. If that was the case, Hogwarts would be shut down. He caught Harry snooping around with that Invisibility Cloak of his, and on demanding for answers, the boy said that he was going to stop whoever it was, and keep the school open.

Oh, the nerve!

“Besides, I can hear weird stuff, Professor. Whenever an attack occurs, I hear someone speak. Please believe me.” Harry said solemnly, sitting in Riddle’s office.

“Oh, I believe you. You have a knack for getting into scrapes, Potter, and it has not escaped my eyes that you are the first to discover every attack. It’s no coincidence.”

“Do you believe me, then? I’m not attacking them, I swear.”

“I know. Terrible magic is at work here, Harry. I would like you to stay in the safety of your Common Room.”

“But, they took Hagrid- I heard they’re going to shut Hogwarts down-”

“No one shall close Hogwarts down, not while I’m here. You forget that it’s my home too.” Riddle smiled fondly, remembering his panic in his fifth year. “But please, don’t wander about and get yourself killed. That applies to Draco too, so tell him to stop his search for secret pathways. Or I’ll put you in detention with Filch again, and I’ll confiscate your cloak.”

Once Harry was gone, he made his way into Slytherin’s chamber, determined to seek out the snake. He returned with his blood running cold. The snake had told him calmly that it was on his own orders that the Mudblood holocaust had been resumed. Was there really an impostor who could control the basilisk? The situation just worsened. Riddle took Harry back to Vine Cottage because Hogwarts was not safe anymore.

Why wasn’t that wretched snake eating the pink-toad?

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

“Lucius, you did what?” Abraxas was chilled to the bone. His son had just thrown himself off a precipice. Not literally, but handing Riddle’s precious Horcrux diary to a house-elf with the order to plant it in Hogwarts could result in the same sticky end. Abraxas was the only one Riddle had trusted with the true nature of his diary, and he had given it to the man in strict confidentiality, knowing that the blonde would guard it with his life.

“Yes, Father! It seemed to be a very dark artefact I found in the family vault, so-” The blonde began, seemingly proud of himself, and eager to please his father. It was a trait he had passed on to his son.

“You nincompoop! That belonged to the Dark Lord! He will have your head.”

“I will retrieve it immediately!” He snapped his fingers. “Dobby!” The house-elf appeared with a loud crack. “That diary, I would like it back.”

“Master, I’s done a mistake, I’s given the diary to young Master Draco. He is very happy that Master Lucius gave him a present, so-” The elf said very quietly, terrified of the consequences. The Malfoys rarely punished him, he punished himself under the house-elf enslavement contract, but that day, it seemed Master Lucius was going to be very cruel.

“You filthy creature, you dare- _Crucio!”_ Lucius aimed his wand hatefully at Dobby. The elf twitched in agony, but its pain was immediately cut short by another spell. Abraxas glared at his son warningly.

“I don’t appreciate you blaming the elf, Lucius. I won’t stand for you this time. I suggest you correct your mistake before it is too late. Dobby, you may go.” He looked at the elf kindly, because contrary to popular belief, the Dark Lord’s right-hand man was not in the least inclined to using curses (especially Unforgivables) on wizards and non-wizarding creatures alike. He preferred hostile take-overs and coup-d'états.

* * *

**Vine Cottage, Little Hangleton**

“Harry, you should see this!” Draco had flooed over with his grandfather and was eagerly waving a book. “Dad sent me this a while ago, but I couldn’t show you it before, with all that stuff going on in the school. If you write into this diary, it writes back!”

Abraxas froze. That stupid child carried Riddle’s diary everywhere, like it was a precious gift, so he (or Lucius, for that matter) couldn’t steal it back without Draco noticing. And now, he had brought it to Riddle’s house! How was Abraxas going to answer to his Dark Lord why the Horcrux was being thrown about by a couple of kids, and not in the safety of the Malfoy Family Vault?

“Not now, Draco. Put that away.” He said gently. “Or better still, give it to Grandfather. You wouldn’t want to forget it here.” Abraxas could just cast a _Geminio_ over the diary and give the curse-free copy to Draco, and keep the horcrux safe and secure where it should be.

“No, Grandfather. I don’t think I could ever forget this anywhere, since it’s Father’s early Christmas present!” Draco smiled cheerfully as he dragged Harry out to the fields. Once Abraxas was out of earshot, Draco opened the diary. “They think I’m stupid. I’m not.” He said seriously to Harry. “The way the two of them, Father and Grandfather that is, keep asking for it, I’m positive this diary is actually a powerful dark artefact. Or, it might contain a great secret. Anyway, I’m going to find out, so are you in?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“The day this diary arrived, the first attack on the Mudb- Muggleborns occurred. Two and two equals four, Harry. I just need to find out who this diary belongs to. It used to be written at the back, but it disappeared before I got a chance to observe it. This diary might be our chance to solve the mystery behind Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets. So Harry, are you in?”

“Absolutely.” The dark-haired boy beamed.

* * *

* * *

 


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, dark secrets: unriddled~  
> Sorry for the bad pun. Couldn't help it. And sorry if Part two isn't progressing as fast as Part one. It's because Part two deviates quite a lot from the book-canon.

**Malfoy Manor, Somewhere in Wiltshire**

Pius Thicknesse was finally under the Imperius Curse. The scales had shifted in Riddle’s favour, Umbridge would now be dancing to his whims. It wasn’t too bad a Christmas present, and he returned Abraxas’ smile. Harry and Riddle were spending Christmas at the Malfoy Manor, at the behest of the Malfoy Patriarch.

The Dark-Lord-in-Secret was pleasantly surprised to get a present from Harry; it was a nice set of pheasant quills; and he had given the boy a leather journal. It was a very useful thing, you could jot down all your ideas and adventures (and secrets too, once you’ve properly hexed it) and you could even keep things (a piece of your soul, for instance, but that was better left unsaid) inside. The boy wore a fluffy green jumper (courtesy of Molly, perhaps) and was busy sharing boxes of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans with Draco.

After a sumptuous Christmas dinner with Narcissa’s minty concoction for dessert, the two returned to Vine Cottage quite happily. Perhaps, after Umbridge was sacked and he was declared Headmaster, he would reconsider abolishing the Christmas holidays.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Three days into school, a sudden push broke the monotony of the cogs that ran Hogwarts. The school had gathered for breakfast in the Great Hall, and was getting the morning post when three owls dropped a heavy box in front of the High Table. The lid burst open with the force of the fall, and McGonagall shouted.

Well, it was more of a piercing cry of fear and shock. But it was very uncharacteristic of her, and the cause was a bald-headed male in tattered robes, with a smile of pure, grotesque evil. Riddle was amused when he noted that the intended recipient had been Umbridge. He had a fair idea of what this bald-headed man was.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! How in the world-” The Gryffindor Head of House breathed out. Professors Flitwick and Snape pulled out their wands and began firing hexes, when suddenly, the Great Hall was filled with giant snakes, banshees, werewolves and dead people. ‘Voldemort’ laughed in a high-pitched tone, his eyes glowing red. Riddle’s theory was confirmed, and he chuckled.

“Quite the imagination, I must admit, Minerva. But hold your horses please. _Riddikulus!”_ Riddle said lazily, turning all the boggarts in the Great Hall to stuffed sock-catterpillars. He frowned, if the ‘real Voldemort’ were to attack Hogwarts, these people would all be running around.

“Whoever sent these will be expelled with immediate effect!” Umbridge cried in shrilly, emerging from her cover under the table. “I will have the Ministry-” She couldn’t complete her sentence because the boggarts turned into Treacle Fudges and chased her out of the hall.

“I am truly disappointed in my actions, as well as the reactions of the school. It seems mere theoretical education really is not enough.” McGonagall admitted. The other professors nodded gravely.

“You are not to blame, Minerva. No one would have expected He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to appear in the Great Hall all of a sudden.” Professor Sprout reassured her.

“But indeed, we must arm the students against any possible dangers. Might I suggest a duelling club?” Flitwick proposed eagerly.

“Merlin’s beard, Filius, how are we going to get that idea past that wretched woman? Haven’t you seen the way she disapproves of everything practical, even demonstrations?” The Herbology Professor said. It was rare for a person as gentle and forgiving as Pomona Sprout to speak so vengefully, but she became quite vocal since the day Professor Trelawney had been sacked.

Riddle smiled mysteriously, giving no opinions on the matter. _A duelling club, hmm? Could be interesting._ He could pull a few strings and see how it played out. After all, ‘Lord Voldemort’ was progressing smoothly, and ‘Tom M. Riddle’ had been out of the game for far too long.

* * *

Riddle thumbed the rim of his wineglass as he mused on the queer discovery he had made. Potter was a Parselmouth. It was odd, it made no sense. The boy was not related to Slytherin... but, there _was_ an impostor who could control the basilisk. He didn’t think the person who was attacking the Muggleborns could be Potter, because Granger was a Muggleborn. And unless Potter was secretly a psychopath who had been pretending all the while, and intended on murdering his bushy-haired friend in cold blood, there was someone else in the question; someone numb enough to make the plans, but conscious enough to not want to dirty his hands by carrying it out.

Someone like Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And Potter just so conveniently happened to be a Parselmouth.

 _«_ _You will pay._ _»_ Riddle promised himself. _«_ _I will make you pay_. »

He headed out with a mind to meet the basilisk and have a nice chat. He ran into Harry, who looked dishevelled and helpless.

“Professor, I didn’t do it, I swear!” The boy pleaded. Behind him were a blackened ghost floating densely, and the very same boy whom the school thought Harry had tried to set the snake on. “I believe you, Potter. My office, now.” Riddle wondered how the Mandrake Draught was going to help revive a ghost, so he levitated Nearly-Headless Nick into his office as well.

“Tell me, Potter, did you meet anyone who put a curse on you?” Riddle was straight to the point.

“You mean, to be able to talk to snakes? No, I’ve known for quite some time now. I used to find snakes while I was tending to the gardens, at the Dursleys, and they would keep me company.” Harry replied quietly. Riddle made a mental note of this fact. “And I once accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin.”

“I’m sure it was well-deserved.” Riddle smiled gently. There was something in this boy, loneliness and being bullied, that made him so different from the other Muggle-raised wizards. And Riddle could relate. It could warm his cold fingertips, and throw his mind into chaos.

_Were Dark Lords supposed to feel protectiveness?_

Of course they could. He had been very protective of Nagini, hadn’t he? And then it struck him.

Nagini.

Nagini had tried to kill the boy.

The Killing Curse hit her instead, and ripped her soul out of her body, and that soul was forced into little Harry because of the unstability of all the intense blood-magic swirling around in the air. The remnant magic from the merging had killed the Death Eaters. A willing sacrifice, a powerful killing curse (perhaps, more than one), the incredible power of a magical creature, and a familiar’s contract. All concentrated in one single point.

No wonder it had exploded.

And the boy had grown up with Nagini’s soul, merging them to one solid inseparable piece.

 _«_ _Nagini._ _»_ He whispered so gently, it sounded like a loving caress. The boy stared at the professor in bafflement _._ _«_ _It’s nothing. You should go back to your classes._ _»_ He hissed. Harry nodded and left, not realising that Riddle had just spoken to him in Parseltongue.

* * *

The Muggleborns continued to get attacked, and Riddle hadn’t been able to revive Sir Nicholas. He wondered if Memory charms worked on ghosts, but he couldn’t just let news of the basilisk leak out. He had Abraxas floo a self-professed Healer in, who, in the blonde’s glowing recommendation, had been travelling abroad and had very good experience in all sorts of creature and rune magic.

There was a puff of ash from the fireplace, and a young man in sleek dragonhide cloak and boots stepped out. His hair was combed back elegantly, and one would expect him to be an aristocrat, not a rugged adventurer.

“Regulus.” Riddle was pleasantly surprised. The young Black was surprised as well. His favourite student had grown up admirably well, and from what he heard from Abraxas, had battled and healed dragons in Romania, gone vampire-hunting in Transylvania, met the Yeti in the Himalayas... the list went on.

“You look really well. I’d have expected you to look like Mad-Eye, from what I heard from Abraxas.” Riddle remarked, taking in the man’s appearance. Regulus chuckled.

“I’m a Healer, Professor Riddle. I practise on myself.” Regulus chuckled, “And I’m staying with a friend till my next pursuit; she insists on fattening me up.” He headed to look at the ghost. “So, on a quick diagnosis, I’d say he was... turned into stone. Or attempted to, because he’s a ghost. Basilisk?” Riddle nodded. Regulus observed the blackened ghost thoroughly, levitating it around to observe every little detail.

“He’s gone rigid. How did you say he got attacked by a basilisk?”

“I didn’t say.” Riddle smiled. “I have no idea. In case you haven’t heard, the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again. I’m fairly sure Slytherin’s ancient monster is a basilisk.”

“A basilisk creeping around the castle, what a reassuring thought.”

“Indeed.” Riddle watched the boy open a bag and attach runic artefacts around the ghost, opening up a series of enchantments that were obscure and powerful. Riddle recognised half of them as Lost-Rituals from an old tome penned by Morgan le Faye herself. So he was right, the last time a ghost had been harmed physically was during Merlin’s era.

It took a month of Regulus working in Riddle’s laboratory to set the perfect conditions for the revival of the ghost. The youngest Black drew out the creature-magic into a vial and stoppered it. The limp ghost breathed to life, well not exactly life, but was back in eternal limbo. Riddle had not been wasting his time; he covertly cast a complex variant of the Memory charm and permanently sealed the Gryffindor ghost’s memories. His secret was safe.

Temporarily, that is.

* * *

* * *

 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which amphibians are let out into the water and Narcissus receives less flowers and cards than a certain evil overlord~  
> This is just a filler chapter, my opinion on what really should have happened to _______ in the 5th book.  
> Comments, please! Just to see how well I've been doing.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Another weekend had arrived and Tom M. Riddle was chatting leisurely with Regulus Black over a cup of dandelion root tea. He grimaced, and the young Black laughed, saying it was an acquired taste.

“I really am grateful, you know. For getting me out of the Dark Lord’s followers.” He frowned at the Dark Mark that was slightly visible through his sleeves. “For this life of ease I’m living in, searching for the city of Sphinxes in Egypt and whatnot...”

“Nonsense, you have Abraxas to thank for that.” Riddle sipped his tea nonchalantly.

“Only because you told Mr Malfoy to. He was quite excited to hear that I wanted to be an adventurer.”

“Abraxas wanted to be, too. But being the only child and heir to a prominent Wizarding aristocratic family is not quite liberating, isn’t it?” Riddle sighed. “But he seems to be enjoying himself. That’s one of his most striking traits, he could always breeze through whatever challenge he came across.” Riddle smiled fondly, remembering how the blonde used to be, in school. “After hearing about your exploits, I assumed you were a hoax, like that Lockhart, but I see you are genuine.” He gave his old student a proud smile.

There was hurried knocking on the door. It was the Weasley twins, with armfuls of bottles. “We’d better hurry, Professor Riddle, because-” They ran to their cauldron, adding a bulbous violet-coloured root and stirring.

“-the Ministry hag is sacking Firenze as we speak.” Fred Weasley said.

“But we won’t let her. We’ve perfected our new poltergeist-based fireworks with some help from Peeves, and it only has to be bottled.” George added, filling the vessels one by one. Riddle leant casually against the bookshelf, watching them. He didn’t care much for that centaur, but the desire to thwart Umbridge kept poking his conscience. Regulus was just as amused, the young adventurer’s gaze riveted by the twins.

“Your new favourites, Professor?” He asked. Riddle nodded slightly, and watched the two Weasleys turn the very shade of their hair. Fred spilled a bit of the Popping Poltergeist Potion on his sleeve, and it exploded, creating a miniscule poltergeist. Riddle immobilised it before it could wreck the laboratory. It was then that he saw faint red scars on the twins’ forearms.

“What’s this?” He asked sharply as he flicked his wand and rolled their sleeves up. Regulus frowned.

“It’s a scar from a dark artefact.” The adventurer said. Riddle wondered if the artefact Lucius had placed in the school had fallen into the hands of the twins.

“Actually, it’s from detention with Umbridge.” George said, trying to pull his sleeve down. Riddle froze, his hands going numb. _Black Quills?_ Hot fury seared through his cold body, blinding him in his ire. The next moment, the professor was gone, flying out of his window, letting his magic fill the air and locate Umbridge.

He reached the castle grounds, outside the Entrance Hall, where several students surrounded the Divination Professor, mostly crying or looking sympathetic. The Senior Undersecretary was reading from yet another educational decree, a smug expression on her face. McGonagall was consoling the centaur, telling him they would ensure his safety.

“...half-giant, letting a dangerous and wild creature into the castle grounds and compromising the safety of the students. Followed by yet another half-breed, a centaur, a breed known for the violence in their hordes. Such an act cannot be overlooked by the Ministry, and thereby, under the Educational Decree Number Thirty-Three, the vicious beast shall be removed from the castle and its surroundings.”

Riddle stormed up to her, and students parted as they felt the waves of his fury think in the air, suffocating with overflowing magic. “The only vicious beast here is you.” He said in a monotone, devoid of emotion and radiating danger. The next moment, his wand was up, firing Reducto after Reducto at the High Inquisitor. She ducked for cover, attempting to protect herself with a short and stubby wand.

Professor McGonagall interfered. “Tom, as much as I despise her actions you cannot-”

“I can kill her, and I will, so stand aside, Minerva. You don’t want an enemy out of me.” Riddle said coldly. He felt compelled to throw a few Unforgivables at the woman, but he wouldn’t, not with so many children watching. Instead, he occupied himself with a few stunners and slightly more vicious hexes, all being deflected by McGonagall and Flitwick.

“We do not set such a barbaric example at Hogwarts!” McGonagall exclaimed, but Riddle paid her no attention, and kept hexing Umbridge. He was angry, and the Dark Lord was biting his rage down to his limits. Umbridge squealed and jumped and ducked, desperately trying to avoid the spells sent her way, casting a few shield charms that kept shattering repeatedly at the intensity of the Defence Professor’s magic.

“You’ll be punished- I’ll have you fired for this! You can’t attack me, I’m the High Inquisitor! The Ministry will-” She cried in her shrilly voice.

“I’d like to see you try.” Riddle sneered, his old arrogance creeping up his face. His eyes kept flashing red, ever so slightly, and his next hex hit her squarely on the chest. He moved forward, still maintaining his impressive duelling stance, taking on both McGonagall and Flitwick, and still hitting Umbridge with painful spells. It could be noticed that his entire offensive spellwork was focused on the Senior Undersecretary, and he used only shield charms and defensive magic against the two other professors.

His black cloak billowed and his Slytherin scarf was blown backward by the powerful gusts from the recoil of each curse he fired. He was a spectacle that day, wrathful, fearsome, and incredibly powerful. He kept his opponents at bay with wandless and non-verbal shields. A particularly explosive spell burst through the Shield Charm and hit Umbridge, tossing her into the air, covered in warts and boils. He swished his wand, levitating the woman around wildly, spinning and flinging, until he casually flicked the wand and threw her into the Black Lake, hopefully, at the more Grindylow-infested parts.

The students clapped and cheered, because they hadn’t seen such a splendid duel before, but mainly because they wanted to see horrible things happen to Umbridge.

“Tom, you’ll regret this later.” McGonagall sighed. The Ministry and Umbridge were going to return with vengeance.

“Minerva, Filius, please gather all teachers in the staff room. I will explain my actions from there. For now, all the students who had detention with Madam Umbridge, please head to Madam Pomfrey or Professor Snape for their share of Murtlap Essence.” This latter sentence was announced loudly, and there was a scramble and a rush to the Hospital Wing, because no one wanted to go to Snape of their own volition.

* * *

“Professor Riddle, I would like to know why there was a horde of undisciplined students at my potions store, demanding for Murtlap Essence.” The staff room door opened, and the owner of that snide voice walked in. He was the last to reach the staff room, and Riddle stood up, shutting the doors and windows with a flick of his wand.

“Severus! We were waiting for you to join. Tom was about to explain why he hexed the ministry woman, as insufferable as she is.” Flitwick said, glancing at the handsome professor.

“Black Quills.” He said simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a dark artefact, and used to be banned, but once the second war started, Cornelius Fudge had the ban lifted. It’s a form of corporeal punishment that used to be part of Azkaban’s torture techniques in the 1860s, but it was deemed too cruel, and the Wizengamot ordered them destroyed. I don’t know where the Ministry found undestroyed quills, but Dolores Umbridge has quite a collection of them. And I have definite proof that she’s been using them on the students. Hence the demand for Murtlap Essence.”

The staff room was extremely silent.

“The Ministry isn’t going to accept that claim, you know.” Professor Sprout said.

“Indeed. There is talk that Pius Thickness is under the Imperius Curse. The Ministry may not be on our side this time, unlike a decade ago.” Professor McGonagall said. “Where is Albus when we need him?”

“I have heard that he’s recruiting wizards to join our cause and strengthen the Order- Yes, I know about the Order, Minerva. And I’m thoroughly insulted he didn’t tell me about it, but I know that whatever Dumbledore does, he does with good reason. He will be back, I assure you. He will be back before the battle begins.” Riddle folded his arms and gazed at the staff. “Until then, we need a leader. I vote for Minerva.”

Professor McGonagall was taken by surprise, but the vote was unanimous. The chess board was even, the light side had transformed a Pawn into a Queen.

* * *

Lockhart felt awfully left out whenever the staff gathered. It was as if they didn’t even consider him a colleague. On Valentine’s Day, he had a brilliant idea, he hired cherubs to distribute love-letters and fan-mail throughout the school. It would be a very effective way to demonstrate how big his fan-base was. He crept out at night and began charming the Great Hall’s ceiling to rain confetti for a whole day.

The next morning, the school was in for a surprise. Cherubs (dwarves dressed in togas and wings) flew around, handing Valentine’s Day chocolates and cards to people, delivering loud musical Valentines in gruff baritone voices and disrupting classes.

Tom M. Riddle kept a threateningly impassive face throughout the innumerable Valentines he received, throwing the occasional ill-will-glares at Lockhart’s back. It seemed that the blonde’s plan had backfired, Riddle received more Valentine’s Day greetings and gifts than he did. Sickened by all that _love_ and _pink_ , so reminding him of the toad he had catapulted into the Great Lake, Riddle escaped to the library for a moment of peace. However, years of experience had not taught him that the Hogwarts Library was the birthplace of so many nefarious plots, and he ran into groups of people discussing about slipping him love potions, and the Trouble Trio were huddled at a corner, discussing about Polyjuice Potion. He was interested, and kept his ear fixed on the three.

“Malfoy’s up to something. He’s been weird, ever since the Chamber of Secrets opened.” Ron snarled.

“Draco’s not the Heir of Slytherin. He doesn’t know Parseltongue. And he’s just as keen to find out who’s behind all this. In fact, I’d say he’s the most desperate of the four of us.” Harry said hotly.

“Why are you defending him? Harry, his Dad’s a Death Eater.” Ron scowled.

“You don’t know him. He’s not that bad.” This time, it was Hermione.

“You say that only because he stopped calling you a You-Know-What!”

“He can do his homework himself, you know.” Hermione glared. “But Ron’s right on this one, Harry. I think Draco’s hiding something. Now, this potion has a few ingredients that are very hard to find...”

Riddle walked away. He had faith in Granger, that clever girl, but could she make the Polyjuice Potion? He didn’t want to hear any more of their plans, because he’d have to put them in detention then. Instead, in another corner of the library, a few First-year girls were hiding, giggling.

“Do it, Gin. He’s friendly with you, right?”

“I don’t know, Vane. It doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s just a diary!” The big girl shook the redhead.

“Ginny, don’t you want to know if he likes you?”

“He didn’t like my poem!” The Weasley girl began sobbing.

“Steal that diary, Ginny. We could read it and know who Harry Potter likes!” The group of girls began giggling loudly, and was kicked out of the library by Madam Pince. Riddle sighed, it seemed that he was not the only one who had trouble heading his way. He suddenly felt glad he had taught Potter to hex his journal properly.

* * *

When Harry returned to his dormitory after an exhausting evening of helping Hermione with the Polyjuice Potion, he found Draco crying under his bed. The blonde would not say a word about why he was crying, but he sobbed into Harry’s shoulder like he had been tortured repeatedly. Then, Harry noticed the blood-stains on Draco’s shirt and arms.

“Did you get into a fight?” He asked, worried. Draco shook his head.

“I can’t tell... He’ll kill you, he said! I don’t want to; I wish I could run away...” The boy was delirious and running a high fever, so Harry helped him out of his stained robes and into the bed.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Harry, I’m sorry. I can’t do anything, I can’t fight back- Help me, please!” Silvery grey eyes pleaded.

“Sleep, Draco. Let me take a look at that diary.” Harry didn’t understand, but he believed someone (or something) was hurting the boy. He hoped the diary would give him some clues.

* * *

* * *

 

 

 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for this.

**Unspecified Location**

Two sides were throwing curses at each other, locked in fierce battle. Dumbledore was accompanied by Aurors and Order Members, facing Dolohov and the Death Eaters. The old Headmaster had called his friends to arms, to launch a raid on a run-down mansion that was rumoured to be a base for Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and his guess had been spot on. Both parties had called for their allies at the Ministry, and it was only a matter of time before the large number of Death Eaters overpowered the Order Members.

Wizards fell under the Lestranges like grass under a lawnmower. But a well-aimed Killing Curse took down Rudolphous, and Bellatrix attacked the metamorphagus Auror. Tonks fought back, and Mad-Eye interfered, taking the insane Lestrange down. Dolohov shot a Killing Curse at Mad-Eye, but it hit Tonks instead, and the young woman fell. A group of Aurors duelled Rabastan, until there were only corpses scattered. Mulciber dispatched Vance, Moody Imperioed Rosier and had the Death Eater kill off a number of his own comrades. Crabbe finished off Diggle, and Rookwood was killed by Lupin.

Dumbledore had gone into the mansion, searching for Lord Voldemort. He cast a _Homenum Revelio,_ searching for the presence of people inside, but it revealed nothing, and the old wizard returned to the battle field. It was a sea of blood and corpses that greeted his eyes. Once the numbers had dwindled too much, the Death Eaters fled. The few Aurors and Order members that remained were taken back to St Mungo.

This entire battle had been a failure. Lord Voldemort had not been touched, only a few expendable Death Eaters were killed.

Two days later, some Death Eaters attempted to get into St Mungo’s and kill the remaining Order Members. They partly succeeded, but were caught and given the Dementor’s Kiss.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Riddle grimaced at the newspaper. He had heard about what happened from Dolohov, but he hadn’t expected things to be so... messy. A third of the Slytherin House had lost one or more relatives in a day. The other Houses were comparatively better. The death count took a toll on the war, and Riddle commanded Dolohov to finish Dumbledore off in one fell swoop, when the Light side was so weakened.

The flames in the fireplace glowed green. Dolohov had flooed in. “My Lord, I have received the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore.”

Riddle smiled wickedly at the news. “Wait for me at Hogsmeade.” He pulled his cloak on and headed out. It was Hogsmeade weekend, and the students preferring to stay in and grieve didn’t mean he could go out for ‘a glass of mead or firewhiskey’. It wouldn’t be suspicious at all. He walked past Hog’s Head and further down to a secluded spot before he apparated to the Malfoy Manor.

Abraxas and Dolohov were waiting, and together, they let Dolohov apparate them to Dumbledore’s hideout.

**The Dumbledores’ Old Cottage, Godric’s Hollow**

“Godric’s Hollow. This is where-” Abraxas wondered aloud. It was a lovely place, with wild flowers and grass growing along the streets. Honeysuckle twined above the doors and roofs of every house, and roses covered the walls. The air shimmered with dense magic.

“The Potter’s place. I know. I’ve been here before, when they were still alive.” Riddle sighed. But he was sure Dumbledore would be honourable enough to not use their wrecked home as his hideout. No, it had to be that other place, the one they had heard from Grindelwald, under Veritaserum.

And it was. Riddle knocked on the door of the old Dumbledore home. A sneakoscope started spinning and making sounds upstairs, and Riddle blasted the door open. His Shield Charm was strong enough to withstand the curse thrown his way.

“Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Tom. I wondered who it was. Could have sworn it was Voldemort’s men. Cockroach Cluster?” The old man smiled politely, offering a bowl of sweets.

“Just one, thank you.” Riddle smiled and stepped in, and Dolohov and Malfoy followed. “You are right. We are Voldemort’s men.”

Dumbledore eyed the two others, as he gestured them to sit. “Yes, I should think I was right. It is quite something to see a boy as talented and intelligent as you fall prey to Voldemort’s temptations. But I believe you don’t have the Dark Mark, unlike your friends here. Or have you obtained that fancy tattoo while I was away?”

“No. The school is safe, rest assured. It will be, as long as I’m there.” Riddle smiled as he conjured a bottle and four glasses. “Blishen’s Firewhiskey from 1816 AD. It’s quite potent, and cost a small fortune. Would you like a drink?”

“Why not?” The old man happily accepted a glass and sipped it, without testing for poison. It was a mark of respect between the two men, that they trusted each other to not use underhanded methods to win their anticipated duel. “So, tell me, Tom. Why?”

Riddle picked up his wand. ‘TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE’, he wrote. Then he flicked his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves. ‘I AM LORD VOLDEMORT’, it now read. Dumbledore paused thoughtfully.

“Ah. Even I could not have expected that.” He admitted.

“So you see, I’ve come to kill you.” Riddle said. _“Articulus Wibbly.”_ It hit target perfectly. _“Expelliarmus!”_

“What interesting choice of spells, for someone who has come to kill me.” Dumbledore remarked calmly, watching his Jelly-Fingers.

“A necessary precaution.” Riddle smiled, and pocketed his wand. “Since you are unable to use your wand now, I shall do the same.

  _Expulso. Confringo._ Riddle thought, and the spells burst forth from his hands. Dumbledore put his shields, and retaliated with a Tickling hex. It was unexpected, and Riddle barely could ward it off. He sent stinging hexes, and a Severing Charm aimed at the old wizard’s neck, to be countered by a _Duro_ cast on air, making a solid invisible shield. It shattered, and the shards were sent lying everywhere. _Protego Totalum,_ to keep Dumbledore’s _Avis Oppugno_ at bay.

_Reducto._

_Reducto_ again.

_Bombarda Maxima!_

_Protego Totalum,_ followed by a _Reducto Maxima._

A bolt of light flew out of Riddle’s wand, ad collided with the arc of golden magic Dumbledore was casting. The vibrations could be felt by everyone in the room. Riddle started using more obscure and dark magic, transfiguring the furniture in the room into dark creatures, to attack their owner. Dumbledore fended them with Firestorm, and Riddle cast the Fiendfyre, watching the house burn under the uncontrollable cursed-fire.

He protected himself and his friends with a powerful restructured version of the Flame-Freezing Charm, which Dumbledore praised openly. Typical of the man to keep a cheery façade, even when his house was burning down and he was abour to be killed. Riddle cast a few curses in rapid succession, taking Dumbledore out of the safety of the barrier he had cast, and into the Fiendfyre.

The elderly wizard battled from the midst of the flames, but slowly, exhaustion was taking over. Nevertheless, his flawless spellwork and defences remained in top form. Riddle conjured Cursed-Ice to quell the Cursed-Fire, and the wreckage of what once had been Dumbledore’s house was filled with steam. The former Headmaster was panting, considerably weakened by the fire. Riddle pointed his wand at the weakened man, to cast the Killing Curse, but the words were stuck in his throat.

“What are you doing, kill him!” Dolohov cried.

Riddle’s grip on his wand was tight, too tight. “I haven’t killed anyone in ages... I- _Ava- Ava-”_ He stuttered. _“Avada-”_ His face contorted in the storm of an internal battle, and his fingers shook. He returned Dumbledore’s piercing gaze, making up his mind and steadying his hand. But when he opened his mouth, no words came out.

The wand dropped from his fingers. “I can’t.” Everyone in the room was stunned into silence. Dumbledore smiled weakly.

“All is not lost, then. You can repent, Tom.” The man leant on the charred remains of a pillar.

“You- No! I am the Dark Lord! I will not-”

“All in good time. The Dark Lord would not have hesitated to kill an innocent old man, let alone an enemy of his, so I believe you can be saved. You have goodness in you, Tom. I refused to see it, but I can see that now.”

“Lies! I am _Lord Voldemort! I have half a soul. What goodness can you possibly-_ _»_ Riddle exclaimed angrily, waving his hand at the old wizard. He had switched to Parseltongue halfway, and his suspicions that Dumbledore could understand, even if he couldn’t speak it, were confirmed.

“Love, a magic higher and more powerful than any of us could truly comprehend.” Dumbledore paused, his eyes no longer piercing, but gentle and compassionate. “You can love, Tom. It will heal your soul. If you despise the fact that you have ripped your soul in two, you have the capacity to love, and heal. You still have the ability to repent, and I hope you will. For the Greater Good.”

“Silence, old man-” Tom began, but his voice was oddly quivering. _“Avada-Kedavra!”_ Green light burst from the tip of a wand, and Dumbledore fell to the floor in an undignified, crumpled heap. Riddle reeled in shock, his mask destroyed, as he felt the warm tip of his own wand on his temple. Dolohov glared at him in ire and repugnance.

“He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he? He’s made you weak. He’s made you a coward. I used to look up to you, you know. Till the moment you refused to kill him, I adored you.” Dolohov spat.

“Antosha, put the wand away.” Riddle warned, returning to his senses.

“You think it’s fun? Dragging out this bloody war, putting my life at stake? Do you know how I’ve worked to see that New World Order that you preached about? You dirty little half-blood, what right have you to order us Purebloods around? And after everything I did for you, you didn’t even care.” Dolohov spat bitterly at Riddle, glaring with venom and ice.

“Of course I care. You’re my _friend.”_ Riddle said coldly. “So put down the wand-”

“No. You’re a pathetic coward who’s only seen the war from his books, and I’m done. No one knows who Voldemort is anyway, so I’m going to finish you off here, and I’ll make sure our plans keep going smoothly.”

“You imbecile-”

“Good bye, Tom.” He spat. _“Avada-”_

 _“Avada-Kedavra.”_ Dolohov collapsed on the floor, leaving Riddle staring dumbly at his old companion. Abraxas Malfoy lowered his wand and sat on the burnt floor. “That’s the first person I’ve ever killed.” He sighed, patting the ground beside him, inviting Riddle to sit with him.

Antonin Dolohov’s death was a blow, because the both of them felt like they had lost a piece of their hearts. Riddle didn’t know he had a heart, till then. He leaned onto Abraxas, watching as clouds gathered above them, drizzling softly, cooling the heat of the Fiendfyre and warming the bitter cold of the Cursed-Ice. The ash and char dampened and formed black dirt, staining their arms and faces, and seeping into their clothes, but even the Malfoy Partiarch was too tired to care.

“He loved you, you know, as more than a friend. I’ve suspected it for years, but now I’m sure.” Abraxas said quietly, looking at the cold, rigid body of his old companion. Riddle was startled. “Antosha dared not tell you, because you wouldn’t ever understand. That’s why he stayed, why he followed you so faithfully, all these years. Until the war destroyed him.”

“Why did you kill him?” Riddle asked after a long break of quiet melancholy.

“He was misguided in his belief that you were naught but a void monster. I knew that he’d lose his head once he found out how much you’ve changed.” Riddle quirked an eyebrow upon hearing this. Such speeches on love and philosophy were rare from a Malfoy, even one as radical as a soft-hearted Malfoy who was best-friends with a Dark Lord. “Dumbledore was right, we’re not lost. We’re friends. That’s enough for me to stick with you to the sticky end.” The blonde smiled, patting Riddle’s shoulder. “We should go, it’s almost nightfall.”

Riddle sighed. Had he really gone soft?

They got up, but Riddle turned back, heading to where Dumbledore lay. He laid the man in a graceful position, placing his wand between his wrinkled fingers, and closed his eyes. The elderly wizard now looked as he would in restful slumber.

“I didn’t open the Chamber. But I’ll close it, and find out who’s behind this. The school will stay open.” He promised, kneeling on one leg. It was the last respect he could show to a man who had been a truly worthy enemy.

* * *

* * *

 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one phrase: Trials and Errors.  
> Someone's plagued by guilt~
> 
> To SummerzHill, SlythindorMalfoy and Lolaray345, for comments that keep lifting my spirits.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

The castle mourned for the loss of Albus Dumbledore, and the former Headmaster was buried in a white marble tomb on the castle grounds, at the request of Professor McGonagall. The Wizarding World was thrown to chaos, expecting Voldemort and his followers to strike any moment, but that attack never came. Later, the death count was listed in the Daily Prophet, telling the world that Antonin Dolohov was the Dark Lord, and that the war was over, at last. Pius Thicknesse was assassinated, the spies were discovered and sent to Azkaban, and Abraxas Malfoy took over as the Minister for Magic.

The true revolution was complete.

 _“Mischief Managed.”_ Riddle said fondly, remembering the secret code-word of the Marauders, that he had eavesdropped for months to get a hold of.

“Indeed. Mischief managed.” Repeated Abraxas, unaware of the significance of those words. The two were silently having tea in Riddle’s office, relishing their much-needed rest after the tumultuous turn of events that shook Britain’s Wizarding community in the past month. “What of the Chamber?”

“I have no leads.” Riddle confessed. He had interrogated everyone suspicious, to no avail.

It was at lunch, the next day, when news came that Draco Malfoy had been petrified. The chaos was too much; it seemed that even pure-bloods and half-bloods were not safe anymore. Professor Sprout reassured them that the Mandrakes were growing up perfectly, and would be harvested in no time.

Riddle found Lockhart hastily packing his bags, mumbling ‘Something came up’. “No, you’re not escaping, Mr Lockhart. _Petrificus Totalus.”_

The blonde crashed to the floor. Riddle levitated him into his cupboard and shut him in. He had to see Draco.

* * *

Harry wrote into the diary frantically. Draco had been petrified, and the diary wasn’t replying. The owner’s handwriting was regal and neat, well-shaped calligraphic letters. It was strange and yet familiar, like Harry had seen it thousands of times before. Then he caught a glimpse of golden lettering hidden in the depths of its protean pages, but it vanished as soon as he flipped the page open. It had been a signature.

Sighing, he set the diary aside and took out his homework. He was lagging in his work, Snape and Riddle both had demanded essays two feet long, and Hermione had been adamant to not let him copy off hers. And Draco was not here. Merlin help me, he thought, as he looked at his Potions textbook. He scraped up enough points from the book to make it barely passable, and then he turned to Riddle’s essay. He liked Defence Against the Dark Arts; it was his favourite class. And he liked to think he was getting quite good at it, good enough to match Hermione. He pulled out the last essay, the one Riddle had appreciated in class, and looked through the extras and corrections the professor had left there.

And then he saw the signature under the grade.

He reached for the diary, and flipped through for the signature on it. It vanished almost immediately, but not before he had seen and compared them both.

This was Tom Riddle’s diary!

Did that mean, Professor Riddle was the one behind all the attacks in the castle? Harry didn’t want to believe it. Professor Riddle was the only person, apart from Ron, Draco and Hermione who believed Harry was not the Heir of Slytherin. And then it struck him:

Riddle believed he was not responsible, because Riddle had been responsible.

Harry felt hurt and betrayed and angry.

* * *

Professor Riddle headed to the Hospital Wing. Draco Malfoy lay on a bed, his eyes blown wide with animal terror, his fingers curled tightly around a looking glass. His other hand held his wand in a defensive position. He was drenched with blood and water.

He had been responsible for killing the roosters, then. And the water? Malfoy must have gone looking for this beast, but by the way his head was angled, he must have been looking upwards. His wand was angled in the direction he was looking at, so he must have seen the basilisk. Why hadn’t he died, then? Riddle patted the boy’s blonde hair, uncharacteristically messy and covered with dirt.

“We found him in the second floor girls’ lavatory.” Madam Pomfrey said. Riddle had his answer then, he jumped off the bed and mumbled a quick word of thanks to the matron, before rushing to the lavatory. He was greeted by loud sobs. The ghost girl was sitting on a toilet seat and crying noisily. Riddle noticed that the floor was covered with water and blood.

“Miss Warren. Did you find a boy- blonde Slytherin boy, in here?”

“Oh, Tom. Is he dead? Can you tell him he’s welcome to share this toilet with me?” The ghost wiped her eyes and hovered in front of Riddle.

“He’s not dead. But I’d like to know what happened.” Riddle said, sitting cross-legged on the ceramic toilet seat opposite Myrtle. The ghost began crying again, and blew her nose.

“I saw that thing- that scaly head and big, yellow eyes, and I’d remember those eyes anywhere. Draco, he was crying here, and he said he was going to find that creature and make it stop. He was awful, you know. Here I was, minding my business and flooding the toilets, when he came in crying, and I was nice enough to care, and he just shouted at me. I was so _angry,_ and then I saw the blood, and cried for help, and he _hexed me!”_

Riddle knew it was better to not point it out that the hex would have just passed through her. He waited for Moaning Myrtle to stop wailing, and let her continue.

“I saw that thing slithering towards him, and he was going to turn, so I didn’t know what to do and I covered his eyes. And then he just sort of fell rigid, my hands burnt, and I screamed.” Riddle saw pitch black hands, but they were still moving fluidly, unlike Sir Nicholas, who had completely turned to a stone-ghost. Myrtle scowled. “You’re going to make fun of me, aren’t you?”

“No, Myrtle. You’re very brave to do that, do you realise you saved his life? You didn’t get a proper look at that ‘thing’, did you?”

“No, I shut my eyes. Last time I died, you know? And being a ghost doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of dying again!” Myrtle wailed into his shoulder. Riddle pondered further. If Draco was attacked, it meant that whatever had been controlling him had taken over another person. And it knew Parseltongue.

Well, that complicated things nicely.

He needed to talk to Harry.

* * *

“You think Professor Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Why not? He fits the description, he’s smart, he’s a proud Slytherin and he’s incredibly strong.” Harry said fiercely.

“Oh, bloody hell. First Snape and then Riddle? Give it a break, Harry.” Ron said, sighing. All that had been happening was them running around in circles. “Riddle’s not evil, he wouldn’t do that.” He left the part about Riddle being his favourite professor, and (after the fight with McGonagall and Flitwick), his hero.

“I’ve had some progress in my research. But I’m not entirely sure about it, so let’s not be too hasty and jump to conclusions. From what I understood from that diary you showed me, I believe it’s a kind of dark magic spelled on it. The young Professor Riddle in that told you Hagrid’s responsible, but we know he’s not. Perhaps, that diary is bewitched to make a reader think other innocent people are responsible.” Hermione said, closing her book. Harry frowned, it was a plausible argument.

“I’ve seen the twins with parchments that insult the reader, so you might be right.” Ron agreed happily.

“That doesn’t make us any closer to finding out who the Heir of Slytherin is.” Harry said.

* * *

**The Ministry of Magic, London**

The polished marble walls of Ministry of Magic loomed over Severus Snape as he was led to the Wizengamot. Along with several others who were caught. The Death Eaters were being tried, and Barty Crouch Sr. seemed only too happy to preside. The new Minister for Magic had come to watch the trial, so the gathering knew it would be just. He was well known for his leadership and fairness.

And Abraxas knew his identity and involvement had not been compromised. He had Riddle remove his Dark Mark just before they set out to reverse the grievous mistake they had made. After all, a Minister for Magic could not possess a Dark Mark without some revolt from the populace. He had invited Riddle to come watch, reserving the seat beside him for his old friend.

Tom M. Riddle took his seat minutes before the trial began. McGonagall and a number of the teachers had come too, letting the school take a break while they testified for Snape. They were convinced the Potions Master was innocent, (well, not exactly innocent, but) they had incredible faith in the man. They just hoped he was not one of the late Dark Lord’s followers. Riddle didn’t dare testify, he knew even he would not be immune to Veritaserum. He had looked thoroughly (with both legal and illegal means) into Snape after Dumbledore’s death, and once he realised the Potions Master’s true loyalties lay with the former Headmaster, he had been both wrathful and relieved. Wrathful because he was a double-spy that could have very well brought the end of the Dark Lord’s reign, and relieved because it would have terribly saddened him if the awkward, little boy who had always sat wide-eyed throughout the extra Defence Against the Dark Arts tuition grew up into a dark wizard.

“Severus Snape, please sit down.” An official announced.

Snape moved to sit on the chair at the centre of the courtroom, and cuffs immediately bound him to his seat.

“Severus Snape, accused of being part of the association that calls themselves ‘Death Eaters’. Accused crimes, aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, do you deny these accusations?” Crouch asked.

“Yes.” Snape said after a short pause. His veins had turned to steel, there was no way out. The only man who knew of his innocence lay in a grand marble tomb far, far away in Hogwarts. The teachers could do only so much, and mere speculation and flowery words could not cover up the stark evidence that contrasted so vividly with the paleness of his forearm. He deserved it; he deserved every bit of it, whether it was a lifetime in Azkaban or the Dementor’s Kiss. He sighed bitterly.

_Forgive me, my sweet Lily._

* * *

* * *

 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's Trial continues, meanwhile someone seizes their chance to perform a rescue-operation without adult supervision.
> 
> I've completed the manuscript for UnRiddled, so it's in the process of being, uh, 'refined'.  
> And I'm definitely not going to spoil the ending here~  
> Anyway, leave a comment, please. It would serve as a reminder for me about my progress in plot and story.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Snape _is_ a Death Eater! I knew it! Look, Harry, _‘Twenty Death Eaters on Trial’.”_ Ron waved the Daily Prophet in Harry’s face. It had been terribly dull and painful since Hermione had been petrified. “I bet he’s the one that set Slytherin’s beast on everyone, the way he hates us all.”

“He should be in Azkaban.” Agreed the sandy-haired Irish boy from Gryffindor.

Harry clenched his fists and breathed heavily. Something didn’t add up. Something didn’t feel right. “I’m going to go see Hermione.” He got up from the Gryffindor table, sick of all the stares he received for being the snake amongst the lions. Ron followed, heading to the Hospital Wing.

A little red-haired girl gazed longingly after them, after the dark-haired boy, to be specific. She had puffy, red eyes, and she held back a sob when her hero passed by without even sparing a glance at her. She retreated into the shadows, probably to scribble her feelings down into her diary, much like all other little girls her age would.

Except that the diary was not hers.

* * *

The creature in the Chamber was a basilisk. Harry and Ron pored through the passage Hermione had marked. At the bottom of the torn page, she had scribbled something.

_Pipes._

The basilisk was getting around the castle through the plumbing. The two rushed to the staff room, but found it deserted.

Right, most of the teachers had gone to the Ministry for Snape’s trial. Which left Lockhart (who was ‘mysteriously’ missing),Burbage (the Muggle Studies professor), Trelawney (a teacher they had never seen or heard about before) and Filch. The latter was a squib, and would not be very helpful in catching a basilisk.

“The diary said a girl died, the last time the Chamber was opened. She was found in a bathroom.” Harry said. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still there?”

“You don’t think—not Moaning Myrtle?” Ron asked, wide-eyed. Harry nodded, and the two of them ran to the second floor girls’ lavatory. The corridor was flooded, like it had been, the day the warning appeared on the wall. And sure enough, when they looked up, there was another message scrawled in red:

_‘HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER’_

A student had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets.

It all had to be related, the attacks, pipes, the messages, they were all... they must have been near the entrance to the… The answer stared back right into his face; Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. They ran inside, looking in each cubicle for Myrtle. Five minutes later, the ghost had risen out of her favourite U-bend, and was sitting on the tank of a toilet.

“Oh, it’s you.” Myrtle said sullenly when she saw Harry. “What do you want this time?”

“To ask how you died.” Said Harry.

* * *

**The Ministry of Magic, London**

Minerva McGonagall had testified, followed by Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout; but all they could offer in his defence were about his essential goodness. That was not quite substantial in a courtroom. Snape could hear a faint knell; he did not know if it was his imagination or from the hall across, where the convicted Death Eaters were being handed over to the Dementors. The Ministry had reopened the Death Hall in the Department of Mysteries.

Murmurs filled the hall as the handsome and graceful figure of Tom Riddle left his seat following a heated discussion with the Minister for Magic. The wizard walked down to the chair, bowing elegantly.

“Mr Crouch, it has been brought to my attention that the Ministry has quite the supply of Veritaserum, which, in large doses, when combined with three drops of Vollischer’s Draught creates a potion so potent, it can render a person physically and mentally paralysed. It’s said to be more effective than the most powerful Imperius Curse ever recorded.”

“What are you implying, Mr Riddle?” Crouch snapped. The wrinkles were clearer on his face, now that a Death Eater accused was actually in danger of getting away with whatever evil deeds he must have done. The courtroom was buzzing with excitement; Riddle had taught half of them, and had been to school with the other (elderly) half. They knew of his incomparable mental prowess and were eager to see what this obscure potion would do. One thing was certain; they knew Riddle had a much better grasp of the whole case and the ‘big picture’, more than Minerva McGonagall or Bartemius Crouch Senior or Severus Snape, for that matter.

One could wonder if the dazzling wizard draped in black silk was a Death Eater as well.

“Kindly show us your forearm, Mr Riddle, before we take your suggestion into consideration.” Apparently, Crouch had the same idea. Riddle looked mildly offended, but he raised the sleeve of his robes, revealing a flawlessly porcelain hand. _“Specialis Revelio.”_ Crouch muttered, waving his and over the exposed hand.

Nothing happened, except for a fading burn making itself shown at the outer side of Riddle’s little finger. A potion spill, no doubt.

Crouch retreated to his seat, glaring at Riddle, his ears a touch redder than the rest of his face. “Doesn’t hurt to check, does it?” He murmured awkwardly.

“Mr Riddle, please tell us what your proposal is.” Amelia Bones waved her quill impatiently. She was a pleasant sort of woman, and Riddle recalled her being a bright and eager student.

“Vollischer’s Vegetable Brew makes it so that the affected cannot respond. All physical and mental activities are halted; making the affected an easy prey. I suggest using a diluted version on Mr Snape, to lower his impeccable Occlumentic barriers which, I must admit, might be the best I have ever encountered.” Riddle paused with the air of a teacher, giving his former student a proud look. “I will then, with permission from the court and Mr Snape of course, use Legilimency to retrieve a detailed recollection of Mr Snape’s circumstances for action.” Riddle pulled out a vial of the said brew and handed it to an official for testing.

Crouch scowled. “And do you expect us to believe you? Will you take Veritaserum while performing Legilimency? You seem quite prepared, smuggling an obscure potion into the Ministry!” His hands were curled into fists, looking down at the two wizards in black as if they were the scum of the earth. Amelia Bones coughed lightly and lowered her quill.

“Off the record, Mr Riddle, why are you willing to go to such lengths for a Death Eater?”

Riddle looked straight into her eyes, unblinking as he repeated the words he had rehearsed so many times before getting up from his seat to pull this stunt. A stunt, which could win him the unwavering faith of a considerable number of people and fix his position as nothing but a neutral observer in the whole war. Simply put, he was saving his own skin.

“Because, despite the menacing brand on his wrist, I stand rooted in my belief that a man couldn’t be more loyal to Albus Dumbledore, than Severus Snape. And _Dumbledore_ is an honourable man.” His lips curved up in a very Slytherin smile as he sent a knowing glance at Snape.

The Potions Master tensed visibly. He attempted to sound out a weak ‘No!’ as Riddle began pouring a cup of the Vegetable Brew. He was afraid they would find out about Lily. His Lily. His only reason for repeatedly saving the hide of that despicable Potter son of hers.

His darkest secret.

“Please, Professor Riddle...” Snape whispered so that only the Defence Master could hear him. “Please, not...” He froze upon seeing the unmistakable red flash of Riddle’s eyes.

And then, he realised how stupid he had been. How horribly wrong the entire world had been. He had researched dark magic enough to know what that red signified.

Harry Potter was in terrible, terrible danger.

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Harry laid out everything he expected to require to perform a rescue operation. He had to cast a body-binding hex on Ron, with the red-head’s extremely Gryffindor idea of blasting into the Chamber of Secrets without a plan or preparation. They had learnt everything they needed from Myrtle, including the rough location of the Chamber and the identity of the student who had been taken.

Ginny Weasley.

Stupid girl, she had been tailing him for quite a few months now. Draco had spotted it first, and then it was evident the youngest Weasley had been obsessing over the Boy-Who-Lived for a long time. And she must have taken Riddle’s diary with the hope that it was his.

Harry picked up his Nimbus Two-Thousand, his invisibility cloak and his wand. What else could a Second-year possibly use to fight a basilisk and save the damsel in distress?

_“Finite Incantatem.”_

“You prat, my sister’s-”

“We’re going to save your sister, who had jumped into this mess herself, so please, keep quiet!" Harry cried, pulling Ron along as they ran to Myrtle’s bathroom. They began looking around the pipes until Harry came across a tiny serpent etched into one of the copper taps.

“Open up.” He said.

* * *

**The Ministry of Magic, London**

“So, Mr Snape was spying for Albus Dumbledore?” Amelia Bones asked. After the excitement of Riddle’s perusal of Snape’s mind, it appeared that she was one of the few who could still keep their wits about them and not squeal (the tiny witches and wizards in the Wizengamot were particularly on the verge of tears) or reek of murderous intent (like Crouch, who was beyond livid that a branded Death Eater seemed to be on the verge of being acquitted).

“Yes, it would appear so.” Riddle beamed.

“Then it seems, we have a noble and innocent man in that chair, Mr Crouch.” Amelia bones nodded smartly at Barty Crouch, who grumbled and banged his gavel, giving the verdict.

Snape should have been relieved, but his hollow, tunnel-like obsidian eyes were full of terror. After all, Lord Voldemort being hailed as the new Dumbledore wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. But the sad reality of it was that no one would ever believe him if he told them the truth about Riddle.

It seemed that he had to protect that despicable Potter boy again.

* * *

Riddle stepped out of the courtroom, to have a celebratory glass of mead with Abraxas, when he felt pain searing through his body. His familiar was calling out to him. The snake seemed to be in pain and danger, and was sending a signal through their bond.

_«_ _Nagini, where are you?_ _»_

He closed his eyes and let her eyes see for him.

_She was in the Chamber of Secrets, flying around in a broom. The dimly-lit walls of the chamber blurred past her as she zig-zagged in the air, ducking to avoid the gigantic basilisk that struck wildly._

_Ronald Weasley was trying to resuscitate his sister, who lay motionless and fading on the wet floor. He would often throw spells at the basilisk, or at-_

He gasped, why was his Horcrux-diary inside the Chamber? And why was a mini-Riddle standing there, laughing hollowly, enjoying the sadistic display of Nagini fighting the basilisk or Ron Weasley trying to save his sister?

_The mini-Riddle was growing more opaque by each passing moment, and Ginny Weasley looked more and more of a ghost._

Riddle pulled out of Nagini’s mind, flying out of the Minister’s office and dashing to the nearest apparation point in the Ministry, leaving an utterly bewildered Abraxas Malfoy holding a glass of honey-mead.

* * *

* * *

 


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not spoiling anything, hehe~  
> But I hope you like it.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Harry Potter flew for his life from an angry basilisk being controlled by a rather nasty memory of his teacher. All he knew were minor spells, nothing enough to make a scratch on a centuries-old basilisk. It didn’t help that he couldn’t open his eyes either. Harry was flying on sheer instinct and air-currents.

And nothing worked on Riddle except _Expelliarmus,_ so nothing was turning out in their favour. Ron tried to set fire to Riddle’s diary and shred it to pieces but that book seemed indestructible. The young-Riddle hissed out instructions to the snake, and the two boys were horrified to see with each passing moment, Riddle was getting more solid, and Ginny was dying.

The basilisk struck, and Harry ducked on his broom. It was like avoiding a Bludger of radius two feet. Ron attempted to cast a tickling charm on the snake, and succeeded, making the snake thrash about blindly. Something exploded, blanketing the chamber in dust for a few minutes of strange silence. Then the snake hissed curses and shot out of the cloud of dust. Blood trickled down its partly-cracked skull and eye-sockets. A broken statue was dyed red. Another trumpet-like sound followed, after which the basilisk, in all its murderous rage, struck the red-head boy.

Ron was flung some ten feet away, and did not get up. Harry gripped his Nimbus Two-Thousand tighter and flew at the snake, determined to make it crash onto walls and statues. Heavy rocks crushed and were crushed under the fifty-feet of snake. It swung its tail, hitting Harry and sending him flying. Splinters of wood dug into his flesh, and when he opened his eyes, a giant serpentine head was looming over him, poised to strike.

 _«_ _Master_ _»_ _,_ he thought. _«_ _Master will come for me. Sour old Granny, you are nothing before Master._ _»_

The basilisk shot forward angrily. _«_ _Whom did you call Granny?!? I am at the peak of youth, if you must know!_ _»_

Harry’s fangs were filled with poison, and he slithered to attack. It was very uncomfortable to slither on two legs. He bit the basilisk’s hard, scaly skin; but his fangs punctured through, filling the other snake with potent venom. A fang dug into his thigh, the basilisk had bitten him too.

Unfortunately, as Harry suddenly realised, he had neither fangs or venom, and his vision became foggy. He crawled to where Ginny lay. Tom Riddle laughed coldly, taunting him. The basilisk spat and hissed and-

By some miracle, it fell still.

It seemed, Harry really did have fangs and venom.

“Where did you get those?” Riddle asked sharply, a bit repulsed by the sight of Harry’s blood-dripping fangs. Harry turned to the young-Riddle, who kept twirling around Ron’s wand. “I’ll just sit here and watch you die. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

 _«_ _Speak coherently, you ass-hat._ _»_ Harry replied, head swirling with the basilisk’s toxins. Riddle frowned, since Harry showed no plans of dying anytime soon, and he raised the wand.

“Never mind. I’ll kill you, that’s better. _Avada Kedavra!”_ A bolt of green light blasted out of the wand’s handle with a loud bang, hitting Riddle straight in the chest and throwing him backwards. He crashed onto a wall, and the wand broke into two pieces.

Harry stared.

“That was bloody wicked!” Ron exclaimed, staggering over the rubble and heading to his sister. “Is he dead?”

“No clue.” Harry replied, and vomited. Something had taken over his body and made him bite the basilisk. The sticky serpent-blood felt disgusting in his mouth, and the sounds of retching echoed through the Chamber of Secrets, long after Harry had stopped.

Young Riddle crawled out from under the fallen statuettes, clutching a broken wand. “Bloody thing-” He began, and hiccupped out a slug. “-didn’t fix with a _reparo!”_ He vomited another slug angrily. “-backfired and turned into _Slugulus Eructo-”_ Riddle cursed loudly, burping out slugs at an alarming frequency. The two boys doubled up with laughter, because it was honestly what Riddle deserved.

The door of the chamber creaked open, and a terribly unsettled Professor Riddle flew inside. He landed and surveyed the scene before him, and proceeded to check Ginny Weasley’s pulse. There was no time to waste, the memory of Riddle needed to be put back into the diary.

“You, you’re Voldemort.” Harry said.

“Yes.” Riddle acknowledged quietly, looking at the boy. A large wound on the boy’s left thigh bled heavily, and he was far too pale. “You’ve been poisoned.” He moved to take a closer look at the wound.

“You killed my parents.” Harry said fiercely.

“No, I didn’t.” Harry smacked Riddle’s hand away, and pointed his wand at the man. “I had nothing to do with the murder of Lily and James.” Riddle tried to explain. “Believe me, I had nothing to do with half the things they’ve accused me of. Now, that wound, let me have a look, it’s basilisk ven-”

Lies! All lies, from a man whom Harry had trusted and felt safe with.

“You want me dead.” He accused.

“Yes. Because a prophesy said you would bring forth the end of the Dark Lord.” Riddle forced the boy to show his gaping wound. A milky white film had developed over it, turning the skin around iodine-brown. “But I won’t kill you.” Harry fell backwards, his vision turning black. He was going to die, then. In the Chamber, at the hands of Voldemort, the murderer of his parents...

 _“Obliviate.”_ Riddle looked into Ron’s eyes. The boy did not need to remember who Lord Voldemort was. Because as far as the general public was concerned, Antonin Dolohov was the Dark Lord, and he was safely enjoying the afterlife. Ron Weasley lay quite unconscious beside his sister and his best friend.

Harry thrashed about, the venom affecting his body. Riddle pulled the boy into his chest, and examined the wound more. _Episkey,_ he thought, cleaning the blood and dirt off the skin. He needed an antidote. Where was a bezoar when he needed one?

 _«_ _Master,_ _»_ Harry hissed in pain. _«_ _Master, you did come..._ _»_

Riddle seized his younger version by the collar. “Get me an antidote.” Mini-Riddle hiccupped, and spat a slimy slug onto Professor Riddle’s robes. “Urgh, is this all you can do? I’m ashamed.” The grown-up version grimaced.

“Antidote- there is no- antidote!” The younger Riddle cried out between bursts of slug-vomiting. Riddle’s grip was merciless.

“Get out. Bring back a bezoar.” The older Riddle snarled. He couldn’t lose Nagini again. He couldn’t lose _Potter._ The Mini-Riddle ran out of the chamber, most likely to the dungeons. Snape was not going to be pleased to find his store-room rummaged through.

 _«_ _I’m sorry._ _»_ He said honestly. _«_ _I wanted to change the world, make it so that wizards would never have to keep living in the shadows again. I wanted to make Muggles pay for everything they’ve ever done to the Wizarding World. I wanted to get rid of all the weak links in this chain called the world. Destroy the useless governments, manipulate the disgusting creatures called Muggles into killing themselves, and rule the world in the way it needed to be. Grindelwald’s ambition was brilliant, but he interfered directly, instead of using pawns. That made him easier to take down. I learnt from his mistakes, Nagini, and I concocted a magnificent scheme to take over the world._ _»_

Nagini stared up at him from his lap. Her emerald green eyes gave him an odd sense of comfort. He stroked her head aimlessly while waiting for Mini-Riddle to return with the bezoar. _«_ _But I failed, and in the process, I lost a person who had become precious to me._

_I can’t kill a person, I get tricked by teenagers every now and then, and I buy yarn and knitting sets for my house-elves on New-Year. What kind of Dark Lord does that? Believe me, I’m quitting. For poor Antosha. For those idiots who signed up happily to be Death Eaters, and in the end, got killed in a very futile war. For the Potters, the Prewitts, the Longbottoms, Dumbledore and everyone else who died for nothing. My aim was not to reduce the Wizarding population. For all the students who got attacked because of the grandiose dreams of a silly school-boy._

_I was wrong, dearest Nagini. Oh, how wrong I was. And now I’ll lose you to this folly of mine._ _»_

Harry closed his eyes. He wondered why Riddle kept on his monologue to someone called Nagini. Riddle sighed softly, watching ink pour out of his diary. The pages were leaking out ink of every colour available at Flourish-And-Blotts. And then, the Dark Lord let go of Harry and clutched his head. He writhed and twisted in extreme agony, screaming as his nails dug into his skin, white hot pain searing his body. Riddle begged it to stop. It reminded him of the pain of making a horcrux, but this pain went deeper into him, as if his skull would explode and he would be torn into little shreds. Ink splattered all over him, and blinding light poured out of the diary.

The pain was long gone before he could register the soothing cool spreading over him. Riddle lay breathing heavily, limbs and hair splayed out on the dirty floor, trembling from the aftershock. He saw Harry from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m truly sorry.” He rasped hoarsely, reaching for the child’s hand. He squeezed the clammy little hand that had stopped moving. He dearly wished Harry wouldn’t die.

* * *

A basilisk lay very quietly, wallowing in exaggerated self-pity at being called a sour old Granny.

 _«_ _I’m not old! I’m not sour either! Foolish child that, and foolish Young Heir._ » The basilisk slithered wearily to the little snakeling in the body of a human. A girl woke to life and screamed.

And she fainted.

Humans were so predictable. It sighed.

* * *

* * *

 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure, at last!  
> Snape gets more 'screen time' for being the bravest of them all.

**Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands**

Severus Snape corked the last set of vials of Mandrake Draught and headed to the Hospital Wing. His gaze fleeted over Potter, who was lying unconscious on a bed, and the two Weasleys. On the other row of beds, Madam Pomfrey was tending to Riddle, who had woken up at last.

“-dead, hadn’t Severus found you... Speak of the Devil!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, hurrying to the Potions Master. “Is it done?”

Snape nodded curtly and handed the vials to the matron. He gave Riddle one quick, stony glance and walked out.

A few days back, he had been rushing to the castle, to find Potter. No sooner than he reached the dungeons, he heard noises from his potions store, and expecting an insolent student, he barged in. He did not expect that the thief would be Tom Riddle, although he did look suspiciously younger in those Hogwarts uniforms.

Riddle’s first reaction was to send curses at Snape, and no doubt he would have fallen dead, had he not been a hardened warrior who spent the last eleven years spying on a group of vicious criminals. Snape fought back with an array of his self-invented spells and jinxes, taking Riddle completely by surprise and hanging him upside down by his ankle.

Turned out that Riddle too wore shabby, hand-me-down undergarments.

Suddenly, Snape felt an odd sense of camaraderie and cast a non-verbal _Liberacorpus,_ letting Riddle down. But then he remembered that this was _Lord Voldemort,_ mass murderer, an evil and cruel Dark Lord who had Lily killed, and anger surged from the bottom of his heart. He caught Riddle by the scruff of his neck, pointing his wand at the boy’s temple.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” He snarled.

Riddle belched out a slug into his chest. “Antidote...” He breathed out. “Potter needs- Poison...” And then he began writhing and flailing in agony, his screams echoing through the dungeons like a dreadful Death Orchestra. Snape shook him again.

“What poison? Where is he?”

“Basilisk... in the Chamber of Secr-” Riddle gasped out, but Snape didn’t wait to hear more. A bezoar wouldn’t be enough to cure something as potent as venom from the legendary basilisk. _Blasted boy,_ he thought. With his father’s arrogance and saviour-complex, always getting into scrapes that needed other people to help him out. He sighted a bottle of Venenum Liniment and hurried out of the potion store. He had no idea what potion could treat a bite from a snake that existed only in books, but Venenum Liniment was anti-venom for general creature-poisoning.

The Slug-Belching-Riddle led the way to the second floor girls’ lavatory, where a tap and basin had been displaced to give an opening. Even a conceited and arrogant teenage Riddle who was half a decade older, could feel the menacing might of Hogwarts’ incumbent Potions Master, _Professor_ Snape. Halfway down the tunnel, Riddle exploded into nothingness, and that meant something big was going on inside.

Snape flew down the last part of the tunnel, hastening through the Chamber’s opened door and stopped at the sight of a basilisk biting Potter. Snape raised his wand, but realised the King of Serpents was attempting to suck away its poison. He sighed. If a majority of the venom was removed, Dittany and the liniment should be enough. He levitated the two Weasleys, Potter and the older Riddle out.

Snape had no way of closing the Chamber’s entrance, so he cast wards around it, much to the chagrin of Myrtle Warren’s ghost, and sent the lot to Hospital Wing. He had a lot of questions for Riddle, especially about the man’s very erratic behaviour since Dumbledore’s funeral.

* * *

“Severus.” It was Riddle. Snape looked up from his steaming cauldron, prepared to fight.

“Riddle.”

“I take it that you know. Why haven’t you reported me to the Ministry yet?” Riddle folded his hands and leant against a cupboard. Snape was silent. “Let me guess, you want to kill me for the death of Lily Potter, but you’re too plagued by guilt because you’re the one who started it all.”

Snape froze. “You gave me your word-”

“At the trial, yes. I knew long back. How else could you have entered Dolohov’s inner circle?”

“It did nothing, you killed her. You couldn’t kill Potter.”

“Upon my honour, I swear I had nothing to do with their deaths.”

“The prophesy-”

“It is completed. Potter did end the Dark Lord.”

Snape stared. Riddle chuckled lightly. “Voldemort is no more. I’m Tom Riddle. Just Riddle.” Riddle didn’t give Snape a moment to speak before he continued. “I’m going to take Potter in; I’ve already made arrangements at the Ministry. I bet you know this already, but the Dursleys are an awful lot.”

Snape was not convinced, after all, Voldemort was legendary for his cunning and deception. He glared at Riddle, who had turned to leave. “Severus, what would you see in the Mirror of Erised?”

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“Of course, I shouldn’t have asked.” Riddle smiled apologetically. “Goodbye.”

* * *

Outside Snape’s office, Riddle stopped and sank onto a wall. The agony throughout his being had decreased to a dull ache, and he was feeling the comfort of having a complete soul after a long time. It was high time to make do with the Elixir of Life. He still had tea with Regulus, who had flooed over to help heal Harry and the Weasley girl. He left the dungeon at ease, because Snape was not the sort of person to indulge in gossip. He wouldn’t go to the Ministry either, because he was sure the Minister for Magic knew about Riddle’s secret ‘nickname’.

Certain secrets have to be buried.

Riddle had closed the Chamber of Secrets immediately after coming to, and he had retrieved the diary. It was ink-stained, but the notes and memories he had written down years ago, had returned to their textual form. The basilisk demanded to be let out, and swore to wreck the chamber if he did not comply within the week.

“What’s wrong?” Abraxas asked.

“Nothing. I’m considering the possible ways of smuggling a fully-grown basilisk out of the castle.” Riddle set down his teacup.

“Merlin’s beard! If it’s not dead, how did you escape from the Chamber?” Regulus asked incredulously.

“She’s a friend. And I’m a Parselmouth.” Riddle said. “I have yet to thank you for helping out this time.”

Regulus pursed his lips. “Well,” He said, eying the blonde Minister. “I do have a favour to ask.”

* * *

The Great Hall was buzzing, as usual. The Mandrake Draught had been administered, and the petrified students had woken up. Riddle spotted a gleam of slicked blonde hair at the Slytherin table and smiled at the youngest Malfoy. He was beaming, one arm around Harry’s shoulder.

Riddle called Harry to his office after breakfast. The boy was still on guard, now that he knew Riddle was Voldemort, and that Ron had been obliviated.

“After this year, will you go back to the Dursleys?” Riddle asked.

“I don’t know. Will they take me back? Can’t I go somewhere else?” Harry asked.

“Would you like to stay with me, at Vine Cottage?” Riddle smiled. He noticed that his palms were sweating and his fingers crossed. “Of course, there’s no death threat, and you are free to refuse-”

“You’re Voldemort.” Harry stated bluntly.

“I won’t kill you. In fact, I like having you around.” Riddle snapped.

“You tried to kill me in the Chamber of Secrets. You tried to kill Ron, and nearly killed Ginny.”

“That was a memory. From years ago. I’ve changed.” He sighed. “There was a prophesy, you know. That you would ‘vanquish’ the Dark Lord. That’s why Dolohov sent his Death Eaters after you. I didn’t even know about it until- until your parents were killed. I had a snake, who was killed in the process, whose soul, by a very complicated fusion of magic, was forced to combine with yours.” He sighed again.

_«_ _Nagini._ _»_ Harry whispered.

_«_ _Yes. That’s why you’re a Parselmouth, and why I can sense your emotions._ _»_ Riddle said slowly. “So you see, we’re connected. Whether you like it or not. And I most certainly am not going to kill you.” He added hotly.

After a long, but comfortable silence, Harry piped up. “So, you want to adopt me?”

Riddle nodded. “Only if you’re comfortable with me around. I have the papers ready, all I need is your decision.”

“If it means I don’t have to go to the Dursleys, yes.” Harry never thought there would be a day when he decided to become Voldemort’s foster son. “And, I guess I am, strangely comfortable around you, even if you’re a complete villain.” Riddle laughed.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’ll be having a pet. The basilisk insisted.” Riddle watched with amusement as Harry’s face turned pasty.

* * *

On the final day of the term, the school was in high spirits again. Hagrid had returned, shaken but well, the petrified students had all been revived and returned to peak health, and Minerva McGonagall had requested the Board of Governors to cancel the exams that year, because of all the events and the strain it had brought to the students and staff. There was still a debate on who was going to be the next headmaster, and Riddle was sure he wanted to keep teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. It seemed as though the school would need a new Transfigurations Master.

The House Cup went to Ravenclaw that year. What a pity. Slytherin had been toe to toe with Gryffindor, but the recklessness of a certain quartet throughout the year had lost both the Houses quite some points.

At least, Weasley and Potter received Special Award for Services to the School, so it wasn’t entirely a bad ending to the whole fiasco.

He had spoken to the Dursleys, who were only too glad to have Harry out of their hair, and he had made ‘arrangements’ for the basilisk to live in the woods near Vine Cottage. She wasn’t interested in eating humans, and was blinded enough to do no real harm. He had to appreciate Regulus’ part in healing her and his offer to take her to Europe when she grew bored of Little Hangleton. Speaking of Regulus, he had a trial to attend, as part of returning the favour.

This was closure.

What an eventful year.

But it was true, Riddle had been happy like he hadn’t been in years. A year ago, he had seen himself in the Mirror of Erised, as himself. With Harry (Nagini) by his side, and Hogwarts Castle around him. It had been terribly confusing, at first, but as things unriddled, so to say, the true meaning was very clear.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the happiest person in the world. He didn’t desire anything except status quo.

~***~

* * *

**There you have it. End of Part Two.  
**


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My equivalent of Nineteen Years Later. Except that it's only three years later.
> 
> To Krysania (Tat) for being a lovely person and commenting on this story.

**Vine Cottage, Little Hangleton**

          _Dear Tom_

_How are things at home?_

_We’re wonderful here at Borneo. A bit damp, but lovely. I’ve sent you pictures of the forests. We found a reticulated python last month, and so, Regulus has started a hunt for its ancestors. We uncovered an abandoned dragon lair on the way, with fossilised eggs dating to centuries back. We believe it’s the extinct ancestor of the Malaysian Firebeard._

_How’s Echidna? Has she been causing trouble in the Muggle parts again?_

_We’ll be traveling to Egypt as soon as we’ve finished with the pythons and cursed tablets, so we could meet there. I would love to show you the underground civilisations. Draco and Sirius are extremely looking forward to it, as Regulus keeps telling us lots about Egypt, especially about the Sphinx colonies. Did you know they live on low-lying clouds?_

_Yours in great excitement,_

_Harry J. Potter_

_PS: The bird bites. It’s Sirius’owl. Hedwig’s gone to the Weasleys._

Tom Riddle folded the letter with a nostalgic smile, nursing the finger the owl had bitten. Three years ago, Harry had completed his NEWTS and expressed a desire to join the Black brothers in their adventures abroad. Last year, he wrote to Abraxas Malfoy, begging him to let Draco go with them.

After much protest from Lucius and Narcissa, the Malfoy heir had abandoned the family business and chased after his friend.

 _Boyfriend,_ Riddle corrected himself. This turn of events was very recent.

Abraxas had behaved like a fussy mother, and kept rambling on about how Harry and Draco were going to be skinned alive by homophobic Purebloods, (‘over-cultured barbarians’, that was the precise term the blonde had used) the moment they set foot on English soil. Riddle was not worried. He was there, wasn’t he? An ex-Dark Lord should be able enough to protect his protégé from social bigots.

And he had other things to worry about.

His Patronus, for instance.

Riddle discovered a few years back, that he was able to cast a corporeal Patronus. However, the creature involved had presented quite an unpleasant problem, and Riddle sought to resolve it immediately. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be a lot of research on the change in the animal form of a corporeal Patronus. A basilisk or a python would have been much more fitting than a _slug Patronus_.

“At least, it leaves a glowing trail.” Abraxas said brightly, over tea. Riddle grimaced. Yes, it left a trail of glowing slime. That was not very dignified.

“I changed it.” Riddle said quietly. “And in the process, I discovered it was not necessary for the Patronus to be an animal.” The strength of a Patronus was based on Happiness Quota, so Riddle believed he could form a perfect Patronus for being the happiest person in the world.

Abraxas was intrigued. Riddle sighed. This was more embarrassing than the slug Patronus. He was sure he could never bear to cast it in public, ever.

 _“Expecto Patronum.”_ He said, raising his wand. A beam of pure light shot out, taking form quickly.

Abraxas jumped back in shock. “What in Merlin’s soggy underpants-”

Mini-Riddle was back. “Hello.” He said to Abraxas, crossing his legs elegantly. Then he hiccupped loudly, spitting out a translucent slug. He glared at Professor Riddle and seethed. _«_ _You haven’t- You miserable, brain-dead old coot, change it back, NOW!!!_ _»_

__________________

~***FINIS***~

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It happened suddenly, that I realised I really liked Mini-Riddle as I was writing the last two chapters. I couldn't bear to let him vanish just like that. But since he's such a scheming little devil, I decided to let him live with the slugs. And so that Professor Riddle wouldn't be able to demonstrate Patronuses in class.  
> Also, if any of you were shipping Hinny, I'm sorry for that not happening. Ginny didn't have much of a great character plot in the original novels, so I kinda didn't like the ending. Besides, I'm more of a slash-person.  
> So, sorry again. And please leave reviews and comments! Whether you liked it or not, I'd like to know your opinions about UnRiddled.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters, I only own the changes in the plot. All characters belong to the illustrious and beloved J K Rowling, without whom, we would not have ever delved into the world of Harry Potter.


End file.
